Charles Dickens’s timeless classic brings out the holiday spirit on the Barons Court’s stage, through this one-man show delivered as a faithful reenactment of the original book. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the production, to let us know if this haunting monologue actually has a ghost of a chance.
‘Twas five days before Christmas when it all happened. Beneath the musty floorboards of a West London pub, away from the joyful cries of the usual evening hustle, a dead silence inundated the cold, cavernous walls of a small black-box theatre. A sense of awe accompanied the cutting stillness that hovered above the stalls, as its little stage remained bald and bare upon the fixated looks of an almost full house. Nothing stood there but a man in Victorian clothes, a short stool and old coat stand. But that made no difference. Or maybe, it did – as the most vivid pictures had begun to unravel, not under the spotlight, but in everyone’s minds. That was the visual skill of storytelling. That was the striking power of the theatre.
As the night went on, the most marvelous tale commenced to unfold. A plot that everyone knew, but still were keen to discover. There was nothing new about it – nor in the way it was recounted. And yet, there was something special coming from it – odd and mystifying, as if for some reason, all the times they’d heard it before didn’t count; at least, during that very time. Words and words started to pour as the foggy spell of 19th-century London gradually materialized. There was some strange, yet comforting vibe stemming from what was rising before the viewers’ now beguiled eyes – as if they had been congregated, summoned perhaps, into a secret gathering where the most charming of secrets was to be shared.
A young boy sit quietly as the performance continued – his heart, throbbing to the beats of such a grasping narrative; his mind, intoxicated by the allure of a most compelling rendition. Scenes continued to unroll as his imagination ran wild – plunging him into that whimsical universe that line by line had been erected within that confined space. Another reality had emerged – and it was so vigorous, so tangible, it was fairly impossible to get away from it. The boy was confused at first, but slowly began to understand what was going on. You need nothing but belief in what you do to bring out its magic. You don’t force it, but let it happen. It will find you, as long as you follow that tiny sparkle of illusion that somewhere shines within you.
Enthralled by such an enticing experience, the boy carried on listening, observing, plunging into that new world he’d been enraptured by. Despite those lively images flying into his head more and more strongly, he couldn’t help disconnecting for a moment, as that sudden thrush of energy seemed to have blown out of the blue. And though present, it looked as if its glint had softly faded somehow. The boy halted for a minute and wondered: “Could it be there’s something missing, after all?”. He glanced upon the stage again, and while still captivated by the enchantment of such a gripping performance, he rapidly understood: “I can hear him, but I can’t hear it”.
From then on, it was obvious to him what the problem was. Where were the sounds of Victorian London? The bustle of the crowded streets, the flashing noises of the steam trains… They were just not there. And by not being there, a tiny bit of the show’s soul was yet to be completed – or else, to be spotted. The boy went on thinking, and came to another realization: “without lights, it’s difficult to follow through”. For some strange reason, it felt as if that last thought had been heard and, almost like a prayer, answered at that very minute. By the last excerpt of the show, a whole different atmosphere started to uncover. The boy was stunned. It was just so beautiful, so transporting. That was exactly what, for so long, he had been longing for. “If only they had done that from the start”, he reckoned.
Darkness fell over the room for a couple of seconds, to be accompanied by a thunderous blast of sound floating through the air. As the lights returned, the fantasy had departed. And in its place, there stood a proud Actor, taking his bow upon the heartfelt applause of a content public. As he joined the cheering, filled with those childlike, electrifying chills of innocent wonder, he gazed at his hands and realized something was not the same. The spell had been broken, or maybe it had just finished. But whatever the case, he was an adult again. Bewildered by that occurrence, he left the room in perplexity – his head still inundated with those riveting feelings of daze and astonishment. Before leaving the venue, he paused for a moment, turned his head back and stared at the stage for one last time. And displaying a graceful smirk on his face, he whispered: “This is what performing is all about”.
A Christmas Carol plays at London’s Barons Court Theatre until 23 December. Tickets are available on the following link.