With apologies to everyone who believes he’s the best thing since sliced bread, I have to admit that I am not a great fan of all of David Lynch’s work. I am, however, a huge fan of iambic pentameter, and so a show that describes itself as “a David Lynchean psycho-thriller written entirely in iambic pentameter” is an intriguing prospect. 

On a chilly weekday night I appear to be the least young, least hip thing in the audience, but that’s OK as the rest of the (thankfully plentiful) audience is bright and bubbly and seems keen to be here. It is good to see an almost packed house for a new show, especially one that wears its linguistic heart so prominently on its sleeve. The mere mention of iambic pentameter may send shivers down the spine of those that have not had a positive experience of it in school, so choosing this medium for a new play is both admirable and potentially risky.

Fortunately, Ash Jones has managed to create a play that uses the language to great effect. The show starts with Daniella (Michelle Leuthart) and Moris (Paul Ballard) in their car – made believable with some neat sound design by Tom Dennison and John Gibson – discussing the reasons for the changes in their living arrangements.

The iambic pentameter is immediately obvious, in a good way. Leuthart and Ballard deliver the language with confidence and pace, and the language elevates their discussion to a level beyond its content. It makes the conversation seem more heartfelt, more substantial, even as we note the mundanity of the situation the characters are in. As Daniella and Moris are literally pulled apart in order to end the conversation, we see Thomus is left alone in the back of the ‘car’.

The set (designed by Andrew Foster) is a combination of the industrial and the domestic, with racks of interesting lights set amongst scaffolding, a comfy looking sofa in the middle of the space and a number of boxes strewn around. The reason for the boxes becomes clear early on, as we discover that Thomus and his family have just moved to Auckland. Images of eyes also dominate the space, suggesting a kind of Big Brother, watching all of us. The set works well to allow the characters to move between a number of different locations with the minimum of fuss.

Some of the scene changes do threaten to slow down the show, but the cast take turns as stage hands and work in a way that lets us know they are aware of us being aware of them, so that we might feel able to forgive these interruptions. These little pieces of interaction are a knowing acknowledgement of the audience and a nod to the way that Shakespeare’s company may have interacted with their audiences. 

As the play moves on, we quickly find that Thomus is a young man on the edge of many things. With his family on the brink of disintegrating, due to his mother’s infidelity and himself on the periphery of life at his new school, Thomus shares his thoughts with us directly.

Milo Cawthorne, as Thomus, handles these soliloquies with panache, speaking directly to us and sharing his worries and fears. Again, the heightened language elevates the situation and serves to make me feel more connected to Thomus’ feelings. Cawthorne starts to draw us into Thomus’ unsatisfactory experience of the world, helped by the use of hand-held lights (lighting designed by Andrew Foster) to make us focus solely on him in these moments of heightened emotion, and when he meets Wendy – played with great composure and energy by Amelia Reynolds – I am won over by the verbal fireworks that ensue. 

The scenes between Thomus and Wendy are highlights for me. I love the spark that is immediately apparent between them and the way that the language emphasises that, while still allowing us to revel in the awkwardness of the characters’ tentative steps towards a relationship. The language is witty and fun and Cawthorne and Reynolds play it beautifully. 

Just as it seems we are heading towards a tale of two relationships, a third set of characters crash into the show. The trio of George (Bruce Hopkins), Gertrund (Arlo Gibson) and Galps (Oliver Cox) explode into the scene, bringing authentically Shakespearean low-lifes into the story.

As the Falstaff-like figure of George, Hopkins is full of mischief and menace by turns, while Gibson and Cox play the often clueless accomplices with great verve and enjoyment, adding enjoyable comic relief to the proceedings. Initially the trio brings great energy and infectious fun, as George tells stories to entertain his comrades, but as they encounter Thomus and persuade him to join them in their thievery, their actions become darker.

Once the three petty criminals have been introduced, the action splits into three distinct strands, with Thomus as the thread that joins them together. Jones directs the piece with confidence, moving the action forward briskly as the tone darkens, using AV to great effect in the moment where Thomus is most embroiled in the illegal actions of his new acquaintances. Hopkins, as the leader of the trio, is able to move swiftly between matiness and violence, culminating in a scene that is distinctly uncomfortable for the audience – particularly so for the gentleman in the front row who is an unwitting accomplice in threatening Thomus. 

As the repercussions of Thomus’ actions threaten to spin out of control, some aspects of the story slow the action down, and perhaps here Jones could have edited more substantially to give us a tighter plot. Some of the scenes with Thomus’ parents seem extraneous, as do some of the interactions between the three low-life criminals. As entertaining as they are, they extend the running time without truly enhancing the plot, although once a tipping point is reached, the action moves at a brisk pace towards a shocking conclusion.

There is no neat resolution at the end of the play and this leaves us somewhat unsatisfied. Perhaps it reminds us that life is rarely resolved neatly, whether we are in the most mundane or the most heightened of situations.    

I am impressed by the facility that the whole cast has with the language of the play, and I am very impressed by the way that Ash Jones has created language that is both poetic and pragmatic. Although some more editing could have been beneficial, this is a bold and, for me, successful attempt to address modern characters and situations through an unusual form of writing that pays dividends in making us truly listen to what the characters have to say.

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The main drawcard for Ash Jones’ Thomus is his use of iambic pentameter, drawing inspiration from the humble likes of Shakespeare. While not completely unheard of in recent theatrical endeavours (Mike Bartlett’s King Charles III being a prime example), it’s a lofty ambition worthy of respect in itself. That face he does it so confidently is the most impressive aspect though, and a further credit to his skill and talent as a new playwright.

Not to gush, but Jones is able to weave the classical and contemporary effortlessly, where each side of the writing lifts the other up. The very ordinary storylines of marital strife, high school romance and petty crime are elevated to grandiose proportions through the poetry, and the poetry made accessible and humorous through the banality of modern life. [More] 

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This surprising show – by new writer/director Ash Jones – is bonkers in the most wonderful way. 

First, it is set in today’s Auckland yet written almost entirely in iambic pentameter, with a large load of rhyming couplets thrown in. The anachronism matching contemporary language and poetic structure works, sometimes for cheap laughs (“…I was most unaware/ of your accumulated glut of kitchenware”) and sometimes for self-referential amusement. People talk of “waxy lyrical guidance” and, when questioned on vocab choice, they sneer “I spoke of ‘sock’ because I was rhyming, egg”. Other dialogue is earthy in the extreme; the vulgar accessibility gives a new insight on what it might have been like attending the 16th century Globe.

Second, the play is more than just a Shakespeare pastiche, not because of any deep sub-text – there isn’t any, not really – but due to its breath-taking genre mash-up. It starts off as a family drama, then seems set to become a high-school comedy, before turning into a full-blown suburban crime psycho-horror. [More] 

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