Reginald Theatre, October 14
9/10
Theatre can be trick, truth, ritual or mirror. Cruise is all of those and more. Penned by British playwright Jack Holden in 2021, it’s a love letter to London’s energised gay scene of the 1980s, to those who died of AIDS and to the “veterans” who survived.
It’s also a 100-minute play for one actor, and Fraser Morrison triumphs in this Fruit Box Theatre production, which, premiering at KXT on Broadway last year, has rightfully received another airing.
The play is written in unmetered verse that, like Steven Berkoff’s finest work, catches the cadences of assorted idioms, without sounding forced. Holden’s exquisitely structured, multi-layered story is derived from his experience volunteering for an LGBTQ+ helpline, and so the first of Morrison’s 31 characters (!) is indeed called Jack. He’s taking calls from people who are troubled, confused, depressed or barmy, and Jack’s too young, inexperienced and under-trained to deal with some – like the one who’s cutting himself while talking.
Jack even dreams of having been on the scene in the ’80s. “You don’t wish that,” snaps Kevin, an older helpline operator, and it’s the first of the sudden changes of tone that hit you somewhere between the sternum and the heart.
A call from Mikey, another ’80s survivor, becomes the play’s primary story, opulently peopled with a circus of eccentric queers such as Fat Sandy, “a phenomenally spherical New York queen”, who teaches him about getting laid in Soho. Or there’s DJ Fingers, an acid casualty with a keen ear for music, whom Morrison plays rather like Ralph Brown played Danny the dealer in Withnail and I: wasted, working class and supercilious. Or Jackie Shit, a vulgar drag queen, whose rendition of Is That All There Is? is a centrepiece of Morrison’s extraordinary performance.
But the other protagonist in Mikey’s story is big, butch Dave, with whom he built “a world of painted glass”; of hope, trust and love. And then they succumbed to HIV.
The power of both text and performance ignite our imaginations, and rush us deep into each bar, streetscape, public toilet and dancefloor – even to watching Top Gun in a cinema. There are moments when Morrison blurs the different voices, but that’s to grub about for faults in a performance only outshone by David Wenham’s in An Iliad this year.
Director Sean Landis adroitly uses the six playing areas of Ruby Jenkins’ set, and movement director Jeremy Lloyd, sound and costume designer Chelsea Wheatley and lighting designer Tom Hicks all contribute to the excellence.
Music is central to Mikey’s life, and the ecstasy of describing his gigs with DJ Fingers leads him to speak in rhyming couplets as naturally as playing a backbeat on the drums. Central to the play is the fragility of life – the very thing that makes it beautiful. All we can do, Holden tells us, is carry on.
Until October 31.