The Epstein Theatre, Liverpool
Wednesday 6th February 2013
Review
The legendary hellraiser gets the full one man play
treatment in this touring production starring a very brave actor indeed (Rob
Crouch) who takes on a hell of a job. Oliver Reed was a massive star, and a big
box office success in the 60s and 70s, but managed to completely derail his acting
career due to his enduring love of excessive drinking and bar room brawling. By
the time of his death in 1999 (during the shooting of Ridley Scott’s epic
‘Gladiator’), Reed’s big screen stardom was little more than a fading memory,
and he was far better known for shambolic appearances on tv chat shows, when it
was difficult to tell whether he was actually drunk or simply playing the fool.
An expectant (though small) audience were kept
waiting for around 20 minutes for the show to begin, heightening the tension
impressively. It was difficult to guess whether this was an intentional
artistic tactic or merely the Epstein Theatre holding the proceedings up for
latecomers. The show eventually began with Crouch in a gorilla suit parading up
and down the front row and cajoling the audience into a chorus of The Trogg’s
‘Wild Thing’. A fitting entrance, and very clever as it certainly threw us all
off guard and allowed Crouch to eventually reveal his face whilst the audience
were still getting over their initial shock. Crouch’s Reed arrived on stage
fully formed, and from then on it was full speed ahead. Crouch has the rugby
player’s build, and the clipped delivery but also brings a melancholic air to
this most beloved of booze-soddened thespians. The set comprised a small
well-stocked bar in what we imagine must be Reed’s home, and within minutes the
actor had knocked back two small bottles of beer and handed out several more to
the audience. A superb tactic, and one that served to get us onside immediately.
As with all stage biographies, it is always a challenge to plough through the
early years and attempt to reveal nuggets of experience that would shed light
on the subject’s subsequent personality and public persona. Here we learned of
Reed’s schooldays where he combined being a playground bully (in response, it
is suggested, to his taunting by the other children for his undiagnosed
dyslexia). Crouch effortlessly became the awkward schoolboy; baggy shorts (with
a generous builder’s cleavage), half mast socks, and ill-fitting rugby shirt.
Rattling through Reed’s youth it wasn’t long before our hero hit the bottle and
began to idolise the macho American cinema actors who he identified with far
more than their more refined English counterparts. To Reed, the likes of Robert
Mitchum would always provide far greater inspiration than David Niven or Roger
Moore.
Once we were into Reed’s big screen career the
gloves were well and truly off, with Crouch gulping down an increasing volume
of (one assumes real) beer, along with whiskey, vodka, and everything else he
could lay his hands on. Tales of drinking competitions with Keith Moon and Alex
‘Hurricane’ Higgins were both colourful, tragic, and masterfully brought to
life by an increasingly sozzled Reed/Crouch, and as we entered the final hurdle
the alcohol was spraying the front row as the hairless gorilla staggered from
one chat show debacle to another. Director Kate Bannister certainly put her
performer through the mill with several scenes involving audience participation
(one lady is persuaded to re-enact a talkshow anecdote as actress Shelley
Winters, who famously poured a drink over Reed’s head on live tv). ‘Oliver
Reed: Wild Thing’ is a real tour-de-force which builds and builds into a
drunken raging whirlwind, and the standing ovation for Rob Crouch was certainly
deserved.
This review originally published for www.thepublicreviews.comhttp://www.thepublicreviews.com/oliver-reed-wild-thing-epstein-theatre-liverpool/
