Edinburgh 2002

Fringe

100
The Smirnoff Underbelly

James Grieve

'I do believe I will remember it, in both my head and my heart, all of my life. It is a tiny, huge, simple, complex play that touched me in places I didn’t even know I had. This play moved me more profoundly than anything I can remember seeing in theatre.'

So wrote Scotsman critic Kate Copstick of 100. It was the most eulogistic review I had ever read and it sent me hot footing it to The Underbelly.

The role of criticism has been fiercely debated, as always, in Edinburgh’s bustling bars and cafes. Variously denigrated by disgruntled performers whose shows have been pilloried, and held in esteem by those racking up the stars, the power of the pen is indisputable. A few lines can make a career, or crush one.

As an audience member at 100, my theatrical experience was indelibly coloured by 300 words I had read in a newspaper. I could not escape them. Kate Copstick’s prose persuaded me to see a show I had never heard of, and it hung round my neck while I did so.

I desperately wanted 100 to be as good as she believed it was. I wanted to be challenged and moved. Yet for the best part of a stunning performance, I could only think in terms of ‘that’ review. Only when I allowed the action to supersede my pre-conceptions did I appreciate this sumptuous creation in its own right.

Five characters arrive in limbo and are forced to choose one memory from their lives that will stay with them forever. Everything else is lost. When the memory is accepted, a camera flashes and the character disappears.

In an intensely beautiful hour of devised performance, the flawless actors create a jungle, a playground, an office and a bar with the aid of nothing more than bamboo shoots. Memories are re-enacted in these locations and the camera passes judgement. Does the memory deserve to be accepted?

There are clichés here. Recollections of achievements are rejected as materialistic and the words 'I love you' are passed. But the content is a means to an end, and ultimately, 100 is so intensely personal it can be evaluated only by each individual who sees it. For some it will mean nothing, for others everything.

I loved it. I left the theatre racking my brains for my defining memory, recollecting and evaluating precious moments long forgotten. It made me think, it made me feel, and I learnt a lot about myself in its aftermath.

If you’re reading this before seeing 100, leave my every word at the door.

Until August 25: 17.00 (I hr).