Fidel stands upon a stage covered with scrawled phrases and snatches of dialogue apparently drawn from a lifetime of disappointment and a realisation that racism can stymie one’s destiny and potential. As clichés go, it would seem a safe bet, but…The ‘play’ by Paul Anthony Morris, is more realistically a treatise on coming to terms with mundanity and being average in a world where being exceptional, a genius, or uber-talented is the dream which every parent foists onto their off-spring, the consequences of which can only be properly assessed in an under-achieving adulthood.
Anthony Ofoegbu is a skilled performer and does his damnedest to bring the material (such as it is) to life, but in reality his efforts merely emphasise that the narrative is a hotch-potch amalgamation of supposition and unrealised potential. Despite the measured pace, the whole feels like a dashed-off effort by an author not entirely in tune with his subject or certain of the best way in which to give it an effective voice.
As they rushed for the door, most audience members seemed to display an earnest desire to empathise with the good intentions, but were frankly either bored or bemused by the resultant theatrical entertainment.
If you prefer your historical entertainments delivered with a bludgeon or shouted in your face, you’ll be delighted by this much anticipated but sadly over-lauded and unsubtle production of Kander and Ebb’s beloved Berlin Kit-Kat Club musical.