Beautiful Burnout

Who ever knew pugilism was such ripe offering for theatrical inspiration? In just a week, not one but two offerings from the Sydney Festival take as their subject matter the “noble art and sweet science” of boxing. The latter of the two is Beautiful Burnout, a collaboration between the National Theatre of Scotland, physical theatre company Frantic Assembly and playwright Bryony Lavery. NTS and Frantic last collaborated on the 2008 Festival smash hit Black Watch, and Lavery teamed up with the physical theatre team for Stockholm, presented at the STC in 2009 and beloved by many (though not, incidentally, your faithful correspondent).

Suffice to say, therefore, that Beautiful Burnout arrived at the Seymour Centre with some hefty baggage and high expectations to live up to. And at first it seems promising. The set, a large raised platform fringed with tinsel in the style of a boxing ring and backed by a dozen screens of varying sizes, looms impressively and cleverly manages to foreshadow the central themes of performance and combat. The opening moment, a short monologue accompanied by fluid movement from performer Eddie Ray, is entrancing. It swiftly shifts to a suburban house in Scotland, where Carlotta Burns (Blythe Duff) is bemoaning her son Cameron’s (Kevin Guthrie) obsession with boxing. From here, we’re guided through Cameron’s adventures in the world of firstly amateur then professional boxing, via his dogmatic and God-complex-ridden coach Bobby (Ewan Stewart) and the four others under his tutelage (Ray, Vicki Manderson, Stuart Martin and Taqi Nazeer.) We follow their trials and their tribulations, of which there are many, until two must face down each other in the ring for a championship title.

As is expected of a Frantic work, there are some truly excellent dance/movement sequences, most of them reminiscent of an aerobics class on steroids. The thumping music and flashing lights reinforce the seediness and unreality of the world these five wish to surrender themselves to. But Burnout is pulled up short by a script that seems interested in landing only the easiest of punches. For a world so full of emotionally stunted characters, messy alliances and dubious loyalties, everything plays out rather as one would expect, and a little too neatly at that. Lavery’s language can be rich and poetic, and the actors handle what is essentially verse with aplomb, but her plotting and characterisation are weak. The story’s final suckerpunch, while momentarily effective, isn’t enough to knock out the memory of the weak spots that have littered the first seventy-five minutes. Tricky questions are answered too easily; characters sidelined when they becomes too difficult. The result is a work that is all punch, no kicker.