A PLAY that starts off skirting the fringes of bad taste and ends up trying to kick its way inside, Elvis Hates Me is still neither sensationalist nor sadistic. It muses largely on celebrity, but is handled in a way that presents a new and fresh spi
n on this overplayed subject.
Director and playwright Philip Stokes's writing is utterly fearless, in that it uses the kind of language and set-pieces that – in isolation – might have Jim Davidson chuckling in the wings. Hayley Shillito is a nurse in charge of two heavily disabled patients, who flank the stage in wheelchairs, twisting and unable to communicate through any means other than a desperate roll of the eyes or a pleading jab of the hand. Oh, and the occasional burst of activity where one or the other leaps to their feet and into the character of a famous screen celebrity. Elvis Presley figures large amid their patchwork identities, of course.
Shillito's nurse is a deceptively complex character, a self-obsessed daydreamer whose bedside manner often strays into the abusive. She might display little or no sympathy when addressing those in her care, but it becomes apparent that she too has been the subject of abuse.
Her patients, meanwhile, are dressed in white jumpsuits, and have a habit of breaking into their Elvis personae, as well as re-enacting disparate scenarios from Gladiators (the TV show), Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Blind Date (also the TV show). The latter is a great comic segment, and emphasises the fact that Elvis Hates Me is bad-taste, laugh-out-loud funny most of the time.
Richard Turner and Brentwood Howell are very good as the "Elvii", whether in their catatonic or their performing states. Scenes change with their characters, flitting between dynamism and darkness, although the non-stop action eventually coalesces into a cohesive and affecting finale.
Until 25 August. Today 4pm
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