A few minutes into this play, once it was perfectly clear that all the characters were and would remain penguins, I reasonably concluded that it was intended to provide an oblique view of human nature through the medium of our feathered arctic friends, here a colony in a zoo compound. At the curtain two hours later, I had not made contact with any credible traits of homo sapiens, which left me mightily puzzled.
Neil Watkin is both writer and director of this impenetrable work, two major errors in my opinion. His penguins don't waddle or flap their flippers, and his penguin-people constitute an unrecognisable hybrid species. The plot is explicable only as farce, but is really no better than ridiculous, and the pseudo-witty dialogue is quite painful. An independent director might have improved the production in the only way possible; stopping it in its tracks. The gallant cast perform as if they truly believed in their roles, really the only way to go, and one of them even turned his trial to profit. Emmet Kirwan's Percival gave evidence of a versatile talent, although his big number saddled him with a hopeless song, and he fell off the stool he was standing on, perhaps in protest. C'est la guerre.
Runs to April 6th. To book: 01-6713387
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