Almost, Maine

An early Christmas treat! A comic Chekhov transposed from Russia to the far north of America. Snow softly settles on the people of Almost, a small town in northern Maine, inland, miles from the coast, nowhere near the lobsters, almost in Canada and almost a town, somewhere north of Route 95, beyond the real town of Caribou. A great place to watch the green swirl of the Northern Lights if you don’t have a passport to hop over the border.

The Lower School production gave us a series of short scenes with everyone their own star, such was the quality of the acting. Christmas tunes gently set the mood. The set was superb with its clear sightlines and textured snowscape with a forest of pine trees. The space opened out as two houses were revolved by the highly efficient stage crew (twenty listed in the programme, with Camilla Perry running a tight ship as DSM). Accents were honed to perfection: characters inhabited their voice. Costuming was sensitively coordinated across the scenes to present splashes of red against the white backdrop. There was comedy from sweet (and bittersweet) situations, comedy from fantastic physical acting, and comedy from the sight of so many young stars seeking so many improbable hugs and kisses.

Memorable among the various threads of failed or successful love were playful theatrical metaphors – a prologue which ended in disaster as a date walked off Stage Left, finally to re-enter Stage Right for a happy ending in an epilogue; a brown paper bag with shards of slate that needed to be carefully reformed by Ned Hercock into Kate McCallum’s broken heart; a waitress (Ruby Richardson) offering free drinks if you are sad – and, boy, was the jilted lover (played at different performances by Jason Chu, and David Sowunmi) sad to discover the girl he fancied (Lizzy Dewar) was in the middle of her bachelorette party. 

Then there was an ironing board with a dangerous mind of its own; a load of sacks carried on stage as an ungrateful woman (Martha Goodwin) returns all the love her man (Tom Castle) has given her; two male friends, Chad and Randy, literally falling for one another, flopping on the floor with no regard for dignity or bruises; a boot that falls out of the sky with a hard thump as the relationship breaks down between Sammie Stokes and Sienna Wheeler; motor-mouthed Hope not realising the man standing in front of her is the man she left all those years ago, until his wife calls out his name from inside the house, and a couple so keen to head inside to see what lies beyond a kiss that the only impediment they face is the many layers of winter clothing they have to take off.

Brilliant fun was had by a cast guided by a team of four Sixth Formers and one Lower Fifth lad, ably helmed by Miss Gaunt. Speaking to several cast members, they were thrilled that the pleasure of rehearsals had communicated so well on stage. The audience laughed and oohed and aahed sympathetically as emotions spiralled out of control. John Hardy wistfully held together the prologue, interlogue and epilogue with yearning face till Georgina Tarbatt returned to him. Gender blind casting gave us Tabitha Todd as Chad (complete with mascara ’tache and soul patch), showing the boys in the audience exactly how they posture with the most improbably man-spread coltish legs, before dissolving all the bones in her body to fall to the floor.

In love with Chad, Randy (Oliver Jones) flopped closer and closer till finally they could hold hands. Flossie Atwood, armed with ironing board, battered Matthew Berry in the slapstick style of Laurel and Hardy. Angus Alderson, looking like an especially laid-back version of dressing-gowned Jeff Bridges, let Sienna Martin artfully gabble nonstop. Cheekily smiling Lukas Butler  played up to the improbable sight of him seeking a kiss from the taller Maude Poulter by jumping on a box to make himself taller still, before jumping into her arms to be carried off with a wave to the crowd.

Sweet and innocent, wistful and searching: this talented cast presented an incredibly strong ensemble from the younger years in Uppingham’s drama pool.