Theatre is in crisis. Costs are up; audiences are down; the government’s telling aspiring ballerinas that they need to learn to code. But two men have a vision: a mission to reshape the industry, with profit rather than artistry at its core. They proved their acumen in their last venture, where they cornered the market in vape sales. What could possibly go wrong?
For the avoidance of doubt, this is a joke. But Tom Brennan and James Newton still run their show like a get-rich-quick seminar – and while I’ve never been gullible enough to attend one of those, they’ve perfectly nailed how I imagine them to be. The vacuous business-speak (so inspirational, yet so meaningless) will be eerily familiar to anyone who’s frequented LinkedIn, while their over-rehearsed riffs on each other’s lines lend the whole endeavour a deliciously plasticky tone.
The choreographed movement is a highlight, too: Brennan and Newton prowl the stage in patterns as contrived as their sales pitch, and by the end of the show they can earn a laugh simply by walking from one corner to another. The performative insincerity is alarmingly convincing, and their nightmare vision of pre-pack theatre is sharply observed. When we get to see examples of their catalogue – which we’re told we can license for a low, low fee – it’s a gleeful romp through the genres, with lashings of ludicrous product placement mixed in.
But just when the joke’s beginning to feel threadbare, there’s a change in tone: a revelation, perhaps, of what the show was really about all along. I say “perhaps” because, as the script later acknowledges, the evocative physical sequence that follows is remarkably hard to read. Within the world of the play it’s described as a catharsis, developed not for the audience for the two performers themselves. Was that the real-world Brennan and Newton’s motivation too? I’m not sure, but I think that it may be.
In the end, International House of Vape is slightly frustrating. The setup’s inspired and brilliantly realised, and the duo come oh-so-close to executing a theatrical coup – whisking aside a curtain to reveal the deeper meaning beyond. But the only messages I understood were shallow ones: that theatre’s hard for its makers, and that chemical aids are no good for anyone. The first half is truly hilarious though, and it’s billed as an experimental work that will change over the month – so it’ll be fascinating to see how it evolves.