“You know, all it takes for love to succeed is that cynical men stand by and do nothing.”
Ben Moor’s offbeat comedy requires a level of suspension of disbelief. The audience are taken on flights of elegantly spun whimsy which, while ridiculous to the cynic, give Coelacanth a distinct and likeable flair that compliment Moor’s style of ‘one-man theatre’.
Coelacanth is the story of a young man on what is often cringeworthily dubbed a “journey of self-discovery”: growing up, finding love, losing it, becoming a bitter recluse and eventually learning to accept events as they have turned out. Running through the script are two interwoven subplots: the unnamed narrator’s relationship with his girlfriend and that with his father.
Moor manipulates words cleverly and artfully to craft a world which is entirely believable and utterly absorbing. Despite its elements of fantastical realism, from the antisocial imaginary flatmate to the tiger-faced boy, the audience accepts each twist and odd character without questioning their plausibility. His attention to detail – the Indecisiveness Society, Association, Federation, or maybe Institute – simply serves to make a world in which underground compliment clubs and satanic jazz bands are taken as commonplace and tree-climbing is a celebrated sport, realistic and engaging.
While the play is essentially a comedy, prone to jaunts of surrealism, it is also incredibly touching, and there are moments where the audience experience genuine sadness. Despite the odd storyline and unlikely plot twists, it is easy to relate to the awkward protagonist and his feeling that “I was never where the universe wanted me to be – or the universe never seemed to want me to be where I was”.
Coelacanth belongs to that dangerous genre which can so often be excruciating to watch, the one-man show. However, Moor is a wonderful storyteller, and manages to single-handedly capture the audience’s full attention for the duration of the play. He delivers each line with a quietly assured brilliance and the simplicity of the set enable the audience to imagine each detail of the story as it is told. He provides just enough for his listeners to create images which are as much their own as his. Moor does not waste a word, and the script is awash with clever wordplay, manipulating language skilfully to bring a smile from the reworking of tired clichés: “when doing as the Romans do, it’s best to go to Rome”.
The coelacanth – a fish thought to have been extinct since 65 million years ago before it was rediscovered, completely unchanged from its fossilised ancestors – may seem an odd motif for a love story. However Ben Moor uses it to deliver a poignant message without being heavy-handed: not to carry a coelacanth heart, stubborn and unchanging.
While it is by no means a raucous comedy, Coelacanth is both funny and thought-provoking. It avoids the cheapness of brash comedy, which is sometimes relied upon in comedy and theatre alike, and Moor’s cleverly worded witticisms and insightful observations engage the audience, prompting smiles and a strong appreciation for good writing. It is a delight to watch.
Coelacanth was performed at the Carriageworks Theatre in Leeds.
Beckie Smith
Image used with permission
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