Trafalgar Studios' debut of Andrew Upton's latest play Riflemind, is directed by labile, lauded actor Philip Seymour Hoffman. A surprisingly controversial evening of finite engagement, this left-field tale of rock, roll and rivalry channels the visceral force of post-war youth culture and collective memory. For every internet graver in a tribute T-shirt, a nostalgic, real-time punter swarmed the auditorium. In interviews, Upton seems to take himself very seriously indeed: perhaps the self-defining backlash from anonymously shadowing stellar partner Cate Blanchett all these years. Inadvertantly, his take on the attempted reformation of a legendary but defunct rock band, resembles nothing so much as spoof Spinal Tap.
       Revenants of humbug and caricature haunt the flesh and blood reality of Upton's spurious setting. His interpretation of rock star behaviour is text-book N.M.E adolescent fantasy - endearing in a way, yet utterly divorced from reality. The amoral result is slap-stick, and indubitably the polar opposite of goodness, gravitas or dignity. God forbid that theatre-goers reference the elucidating structure (or guidance) promulgated by Classical works. Riflemind's superficial tableaux conjour lame conversation-classes between ill-starred stereotypes. From such pusillanimity it was possible to experience bat-squeaks of conscience-piqueing schadenfreude. However, for most of this long performance, we are unchallenged, amused rarely and learn almost nothing from its inconclusive 'climax'.
In summation, the play imagines itself a post-modern conundrum drawn from the entertainment industry. Witness a band of once-lauded, autumnal musicians (along with Jeremy Sims' Sam, their manipulative manager; and groupie/hanger-on, Cindy, played seductively by Ruth Gemmell) reconvene after a decade, to discuss burying the hatchet and getting back together. The audience is assailed by greed, drug issues and (opaquely) proto-homosexuality - as one would expect from a bunch of text-book rockers. Interminable, internecine strife between players becomes wearing after a while, serving fragmented dramatic purpose. Brothers John and Phil (John Hannah and Paul Hilton) were once the nucleae of Riflemind, and predictably argue over everything from artistic integrity to remuneration. For once, these warring fraternal exchanges are watchable, and Riflemind's best dialogue occurs between them in Act II.
       In the main however, Upton's musicians are mere cyphers drawn from urban myth. Dynamics between the three founder members (and a talented young gun stand-in, Lee) are unconvincing. A subplot regarding host John and long-term lover (Susan Prior, making the best of over-egged enabler Lynn) home-alone in splendid, post-bender isolation, is stomach-turning. Richard Robert's serviceable kitchen/den set appears Ikea-feasible for two acts, but hardly extends beyond the dreams of megastar avarice. Convinced that John has been tempted to fall off the wagon by his whacked-out partners-in-crime, Lynn disappears for days to the pub - reappearing only to relieve herself in the fridge and pontificate in excrutiating detail on her addiction issues. Apropos of Riflemind reforming amidst this clear and present danger, John flippantly informs Lynn that if he goes on tour again, she 'can put it all up her arm': and that, dear reader, is the play's denouement. Sound, fury and a paucity of significance.
       Riflemind's audience was full of young accolytes and students who must have spent meagre allowances on worshiping at P.S. Hoffman's altar. The man himself did not deign to appear at curtain-call, and one had to wonder (wherever he was) just how engaged in the production he had really been. Never mind remote viewing (poor us) this was remote direction. It was difficult to assess who had suffered more at Hoffman's hands - cast or audience.
Caroline Kellett Fraysse