The Suicide
An adaptation of the Erdman classic amuses and underwhelms in equal measure
The National’s latest modernisation of an old classic, The Suicide has all the potential of a biting satirical comedy with little of the finesse or foundation to really pull it off. While the laughs are frequent and at times provocative, the play struggles to maintain its momentum and leaves little of an underlying narrative.
Suhayla El-Bushra’s adaptation of Nikolai Erdman’s great second play, The Suicide concerns a young man, Sam, whose brief thought of ending his life is compounded by an outpouring of support. The community, in all the shapes and sizes of a London council estate, all urge him to do the right thing – die for the benefit of their cause. Played by the boisterous Javone Prince of PhoneShop fame, Sam is soft and charming, but lacking the direction that would really make him shine. With a solid supporting cast including the likes of Paul Kaye and Ashley McGuire, the overall presentation is enjoyable, but not exactly special.
As is so often the case at the National, the set is a highlight of the production with all the frills and flair of big budget theatre. However, despite its impressive appearance, it feels oddly unoriginal. Thinking back to the shows of 2015, The Suicide’s stylised dystopian backdrop, frequent use of multimedia and drum solo soundtrack all bear uncanny resemblance to the production features in_Golem_ – a personal highlight from last year’s calendar.
The Suicide is far from boring, but the play fails to take that step above and beyond the comedy. The laughs are often cheap and hastily stereotyped – for what should be a fiery political satire, the comedy is a little bland. It is clear that the script is for today’s audience with many of the best jokes touching on the current affairs of 2016. However, I can’t help but feel that more time in development would have done wonders for this production. Where the script seems to be steering to hilarity, the punchlines are a let-down, and where split second timing is crucial, the text is too fluffy to really hit home. Equally, while the momentum consistently builds as the play goes on, the two and a half hour runtime leaves the last thirty minutes stagnant. The body is there and the intention is clear, but they haven’t trimmed the fat.
The Suicide is running at the National Theatre until 25th June
