The travelling salesman used to be a stock figure – a centrepiece for jokes about man’s priapism, the untameable wanderlust of the peen once free of its domestic shackles. The Death of Bunny Munro, adapted from Nick Cave’s 2009 book of the same name by Pete Jackson and keeping all its bleak tenderness and unforgiving brutality, gives us the tragedy that lies the other side of any comic character worth its salt.
Cosmetics salesman Bunny (Matt Smith, a brilliant and still underrated actor, plus the best Doctor of modern times, please send an SAE for my monograph on this subject) is out on the road, sampling another young lady’s wares, when we meet him. His wife, Libby (Sarah Greene, perfectly cast as a fierce, loving woman broken by depression and her husband’s choices) calls him. He dismisses her and returns to his sampling. When he returns the next day he finds that she has killed herself. They have a nine-year-old son, Bunny Jr, played by Rafael Mathé, who gives an absolutely wonderful, heartbreaking performance, treading the thinnest of lines between knowing everything and nothing about his father and about his own likely future. At first, Bunny Sr tries to palm him off on Libby’s mother (Lindsay Duncan), who, in a harrowing post-funeral scene, refuses. But when social services arrive to take the boy into care, Bunny’s pride or conscience is pricked. The pair light out of the window and head off on a road trip along the south coast, and a father-son bonding experience. Traditionally, these are good things. But Cave is not a traditional writer and this is not a traditional tale.
