Chris Eldon Lee reviews “Casting The Runes” at Shrewsbury’s Theatre Severn.
How does he do it?
I know it’s a hackneyed old question and one you really shouldn’t ask an actor…but how on earth does Robert Lloyd Parry commit to memory 90 minutes of intricate, breathless, fireside monologue and deliver it so mesmerically?
He does every thing wrong. He rabbits on like someone chatting in a pub who won’t let a you get a word in edgeways. He looks like a pale chartered accountant who never sees the light of day – in his crumpled grey suit and ill-fitting waistcoat. There is very little characterisation. There are no sound or lighting cues and, like an old club curmudgeon, he refuses point blank to get out of his armchair. Yet he is completely captivating and people flock to see him. This is his third appearance at Theatre Severn and the audience has grown every time – culminating in last night’s full house.
He’s a master of his material. M R James is a superb, supernatural writer … producing his best work a century ago. His style subtlety draws you in. There is nothing overt about the storylines; nothing obvious to pin matters on. Instead he specialises in inference and innuendo. Like all great gothic stories, the ghosts are in your mind.
It’s a simple setting. A high-backed padded chair, a drinks table with a glass of whiskey to keep him going, a few piles of dusty old books, and a handful of candles to create a dim pool of light. In the first story – “Casting The Runes” – it’s April 1903 and a series of strange coincidences, including a mysteriously vanishing illuminated advert in a tram, lead to the urgency of passing on a cursed script.
With barely a glance at the audience, Robert Lloyd Parry simply tells us the story from several points of view…explaining himself on the way in a casual, matter of fact manner than becomes increasingly incredulous. The cosiness amplifies the underlying tensions. It’s the Test Match Special approach to telling ghosts stories.
After the interval he slips back into his seat again and in “The Residence of Whitminster” tells an 18th Century tale about the ritual sacrifice of a jet black cockerel called Hannibal. The creatures he conjures up are calculatingly spooky. The attention to detail and description fills the mind.
Mr Parry has the air of a compulsive talker who can’t wait to share his stories. They tumble out of his mouth and into your lap. They are so real you could wrap them up in a kerchief and take them away with you; provided you don’t want to sleep.
He now has a faithful following in Shrewsbury and will doubtless be back
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