Review of ‘Higher Ups’: “The devil wears nada”

London’s Old Red Lion Theatre welcomes this new play depicting the savageness of the entertainment industry through the eyes of satire. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show, to let us know if its drastic narrative about an alleged alien invasion actually needs to come back to earth.

We’ve all had that boss that, to put it mildly, is just a bloody pain in the ass – I’m not going for the easy pun there… That was exactly my case a few years ago, when I was doing the oldest job… of my professional career – I’m not sure if I’ve salvaged it, to be honest. She was mean, narcissistic, insufferable, believed that the world revolved about her (surprise, surprise – it doesn’t; come on – you know I exist). But the worst part of it was that she was surrounded by brainless sheep (figure of speech – they were, in fact, pigs) that seemed to idolise her incompetent management skills.

Those days are long gone now – and, apart from my daily voodoo sessions and Satanic prayer, I’ve been able to put all that stuff behind me (again, I’m not going for the easy pun…). However, fiction finds its ways to reconnect us with those episodes of our reality that we thought (and are) concluded. And as such, my memories of my life in Winter Downerland were jogged when I attended a performance of Higher Ups – a tale of ambition, sacrifice, true values, and secret messages revealed by alien-inhabited cans of beans.

Penned by Rosie Blackadder, the play is set in a prominent acting talent agency, as they prepare for the year’s most important “Big Daddy” gathering – I think my previous reviews may have spoiled your humourous expectations… There’s every possible employee in the book: the naive newcomer with a heart of gold and a chill, untainted attitude towards any issue; the neurotic workaholic who believes their sole purpose is to serve the company’s greater good; the overly ambitious career-obsessed prick who’d do anything to climb up the ladder; and the self-absorbed boss whose whole nasty pleasure is based on instigating terror in their subordinates. All of us have been there before. And if not, we’ve certainly seen it before. There’s very little need for reinveting Anna – especially if that one is closer to Wintour.

Though the basics of its premise are still enticing (even with its debatable twist of events), the piece is given almost no room to achieve its own individuality. It’s fair to say that its storyline takes a completely different turn. But as for archetypes (and I couldn’t stress that word enough), it’s just too close to too many roles we’ve already been presented with. We have Emily from Runway Magazine, displaying the same anxiety-honed personality, but with fewer memorable lines. There’s an Andy, too; but this time, her mind wanders across Philomena Cunk’s yard. And there’s also a Nigel, only that this one would not allow anyone to stab him in the back – literally…

Apart from some very scarce enjoyable moments, the play fails to compel its viewers to a great extent. The problem stems from a mixture of overcliched personages and a not-too-elaborate dialogue – with so many jokes feeling either over predictably or, regrettably, completely unable to land. On the other hand, the plot, no matter how crazy it’s intended to be, seems unstructured and unpolished – nearer to an early stage of development, with both characters and situations looking excessively two-dimensional; capable of bringing on some laughter (in quite a scattered manner), but struggling to make its audiences fall for a narrative it’s really hard to get into in the first place.

We can still acknowledge the effort its cast makes to help the piece take off – which, to a reasonable degree, we may consider a success. With practically every punchline relying on the delivery rather than the writing, several renditions are worth a mention – starting with Alice Marshall in the part of corporate cult follower Daisy, boasting good timing and overall naturalness in her interpretation. In a similar way, Gemma Caseley-Kirk and Jacob Lovick make a noticeable impression, too, as newly arrived assistant Natasha and deranged manager Samuel – playing their characters with ease and flow, and somehow making up for the shortages of the script through their energetic approach on the roles.

I’d be lying if I said I’ve never fantasised of seeing my former chiefs going totally insane and taking their clothes off in an act of hysteria (I’d probably be traumatised after seeing what was underneath, but they had already set up the grounds for that anyway). Yet, that’s a very brief thought that’s not solid enough to make of it a whole piece of storytelling. With a few themes and ideas hinted, but none of them properly defined, Higher Ups wistfully gives us too many lows in what could have been an uproarious and perhaps insightful comment on the toxicity of a dehumanising work environment. It’s a valid initial attempt, but before dealing with little green men, they might want to turn around another kind of green from its, so far, unfledged execution.

All pictures credit to Charlie Lyne.

Higher Ups plays at London’s Old Red Lion Theatre until 4 January. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara