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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Entertainment
Catherine Love

Guy Fawkes review – mild comedy needs some satirical gunpowder

Robin Simpson (left) and Andrew Pollard in Guy Fawkes at York Theatre Royal.
On the nauseous verge of breakdown … Robin Simpson (left) and Andrew Pollard in Guy Fawkes at York Theatre Royal. Photograph: Sam Taylor

Guy Fawkes is not an obvious subject for a comedy – he’s more of a villain or a tragic figure (depending on your perspective) than a clown. But David Reed’s new play, which started life as a radio drama with his comedy troupe The Penny Dreadfuls, tries to find the laughs in this tale of treason.

In Reed’s telling, the Gunpowder Plot is a chat at the pub that got a bit out of hand. When we first meet them, conspirators Robert Catesby, Thomas Percy, Thomas Winter and Kit Wright are clumsy would-be revolutionaries, more interested in the drinks and snacks than in their plans to overthrow King James. But with the recruitment of Fawkes, who has military experience overseas, things heat up. Before they know it, the group have a stock of explosives stashed under the Houses of Parliament and there’s no going back.

David Reed and Cassie Vallance in Guy Fawkes at York Theatre Royal .
A chat at the pub that got a bit out of hand … David Reed and Cassie Vallance in Guy Fawkes at York Theatre Royal . Photograph: Sam Taylor

There are some solid comedic performances in Gemma Fairlie’s production, especially from Robin Simpson, forever on the nauseous verge of breakdown as ringleader Catesby, and from Greg Haiste as a preening, pompous Percy. But Reed’s script hovers undecidedly between the urge to produce laughs and the need to tell the story. Unlike the powerful final episode of Blackadder Goes Forth, when the silliness suddenly drops away, any poignancy at the close of Guy Fawkes is undermined by the tendency to flip-flop between comedy and drama throughout.

This indecision troubles the whole production. There are timid attempts to make the story relevant to current political upheavals, as well as some obligatory lockdown jokes at the mention of the plague. There’s the potential here for biting satire or riotous meta-theatricality, but Reed and Fairlie never fully commit. The gags themselves, meanwhile, often feel oddly old-fashioned and over-dependent on unreliable bits of stagecraft.

Remember, remember, exhorts the famous Bonfire Night rhyme. Reed tries to make us question what it is we’re remembering, highlighting the ridiculousness and the tragedy of Fawkes’s plight. But by failing to fully embrace either comedy or pathos, he’s created a piece that is quickly forgettable.

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