Review of ‘Edgar A. Poe’s Last Call’: “Love letter to Poe honours his predicament — with darkness there and nothing more”

In some way, this is a dream within a dream. An invocation to the spirit of one of America’s enigmatic writers. And at the same time, a mournful reflection on the suffering that forges an artist’s greatness, as he yearns for the opportunity to enjoy the happiness he will never grasp. A dream of hope. And a dream of completeness. Both unspoken but long yearned for. This play dreams of Poe — the man and the dreamer.

It’s not a finished work. In fact, there is a lot of work to do on it. But there’s something truly transfixing about it. And the love playwright and performer Scott Robinson has put into the piece pervades every element. It perfectly captures the classical author’s eerie essence from the beginning. And rather than creating a caricature based on his eccentric nature, it offers a direct look into his afflicted heart. A heart that tells tales.

As audiences loiter at the theatre’s small foyer, a downcast, tattered Poe slowly walks in, greeting his new confidantes — almost like a guilt-ridden Salieri in Amadeus, but with no murder to confess other than his own joy. He orders a glass of brandy, and a toast follows. A nice, simple touch that, far from being gimmicky, sets the right tone, conveying the author’s mystique while also exposing his humanity. The action continues inside the auditorium, and the story of his life unfolds.

It’s a sad story. His mother died when he was a child. His foster father was abusive. And by the time the plot starts, he’s deeply haunted by the memories of his late first wife. It comes as a surprise that none of those events helps create any poignancy. But they don’t. And the reason is the narrative’s overly sequential approach. The script doesn’t delve into Poe’s relationships. They are mentioned- sometimes extensively -but they are not explored compellingly.

We can understand the relevance of each character in Poe’s existence. But we cannot feel it. None of them is granted enough space to build that bond with the viewer. Not even Poe himself, whose spiel is gripping yet not that soulful. In the end, fun facts outnumber the protagonist’s emotional journey. And although most of them are necessary to paint a clear picture of his reality, the most important shades are missing.

There is an arc — but if it’s not unfinished, it’s definitely flat. We don’t get a proper sense of resolution. Even as an open ending, it’s underdeveloped. The conflict is established, but somehow forgotten. The script attempts to revive it with better or worse luck. But it’s never enough. And despite Robinson’s impeccable rendition of The Raven, referencing the entire poem comes across as more self-indulgent than dramatically driven.

Robinson’s portrayal of Poe is powerful and biting. For the most part, it’s imbued with Poe’s melancholic aura, whose effortless sincerity is nothing short of impressive. The same applies to his commanding presence and graceful interpretation of Poe’s oeuvre. It’s true, however, that some of that magnetism and depth wears off at punctual yet crucial moments. Yet, his accomplished technique makes up for those weaknesses deftly enough. And although not stirring, his performance comes out satisfactory.

It’s a fine homage, but an unfulfilling one. As such, Poe might have been revived by this piece, but he doesn’t live on in the audience’s minds. It’s a tale of life and death — in every shape and every form. But much like Poe himself described the line separating the two, the play’s take is, overall, shadowy and vague. There is a potential for something higher. But for the time being, I shall think of its resonance — nevermore.

Edgar A. Poe’s Last Call plays at London’s Camden People’s Theatre until 15 August. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara