I
am always happy to travel North, north, north…
Three
men prepare to set off for the North Pole in a hot air balloon. Yes, that’s
right, a hot air balloon. The scientists amongst you might groan straight off
but if you’re like me then every bit of you is tingling with excitement. What
daring, foolhardy but magnificent, glamorous daring? Yes I’ll follow you, sir,
in your marvellous contraption with its newly patented system of sails and
rope. What could possibly go wrong? Quiet in the back there.
For
an hour and fifteen minutes, New International Entertainment want to take you
with them on an incredible, picaresque journey destined for shining, unequalled
success that can only end with a great banquet, held by the Tsar of all Russia.
As
we enter the small box room space of the Bike Shed Theatre in Exeter the cast
are handing around hot cups of strong Swedish coffee. The more extrovert among
us call out for tea. We are, meanwhile, serenaded by a woman on a guitar who we
later discover is Knut Frænkel, she has a moustache to prove it. The other woman, handing
out coffee, is none other than Nils Strindberg, photographer, fiancée and
second cousin to August Strindberg. She too has a moustache. The crowning glory
and chief adventurer is Salomon Andrée, physicist, engineer and amateur balloonist; he seems
to have grown his own moustache.
Yes,
you did hear right, amateur
balloonist. It transpires that the good captain has not tested his great
patent.
The
three start by playing music, a double bass, an accordion and a guitar. They
could carry on with this sombrous, eastern folk for a whole evening if my
consciousness was the only one to please but it isn’t. They begin a dramatic
narrative that spreads over three short acts. But they aren’t acts, they’re
stages or chapters. The three explorers go from enthusiastic national heroes to
dying, deranged fools in the snow; eating polar bear brains and drinking the
King of Sweden’s champagne.
“Ice
to the East, Ice to the West, Ice to the North and Ice to the South” is their
maddening refrain.
For
me, this is a dream of a story but for some reason there is something missing.
Not enough to ruin the evening or to lessen some very amusing and well-judged
moments but one goes away with the sense that more could have been done.
Sometimes lines were fluffed and sometimes jokes felt flat or too obvious.
Some
of the most moving moments are physical. A projection screen is used to show us
the hopeful young men preparing their balloon with sails for their maiden
flight. These pictures are taken by Nils. Later the projection scene shows us
the sky-ship come down and the men examining the wreck. The elements of
physical theatre work well here as the subjects of the photographs take their
positions.
The
room is full of theatre students. First years. They are exuberant, chatty and
immediately engage the actors when they come in who enjoy the interaction. This
is a perfect theatrical audience. The people here will know what you’re about.
They need no former knowledge of the story, they are likely to laugh at a joke
because it has been well constructed.
There
is a dark humour here which is not easily married with the guffaws heard in the
front and back rows. A twiddle of a moustache might send them howling but a
man’s blackened foot, however unlikely the depiction, should send a hush over
one. A folk memory of so many dead in those icy regions. North, south. History
is cluttered with fallen men in the pack ice.
Earlier
in the year I went to see a Tinder theatre production called, the Last March.
Scott, another ambitious man, set out to be the first man to the South Pole. We
are all familiar with his fate. It’s an old story now. There was no new and
exciting details like Andrée’s balloon but it still managed to hold itself up better. It
kept its pace and its humour was more convincing. It had a very similar dynamic
of three actors playing two lackeys and one glorious leader.
If
I were to recommend a play for you to see, it would be the Last March. I say
this reluctantly, sadly as I watch the three doomed Swedes of my imagination,
picking out their sombrous tune, with only a wicker basket between them and
thousands of miles of cold, unforgiving sea ice. I knew they could have done
better.
