Both terrifying and farcical, Jez Butterworth’s first play gets the heart pumping.

Wharf 1 Theatre, Sydney

May 29, 2014

The sound of drums and guitar pound the walls of the nightclub like a meat tenderiser, while the heartthrob singer takes the stage. There seems to be little more to life than sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll – after all, this is England, summer of 1958. Silver Johnny is on the road to fame and fortune, but he's also at the centre of a jealous feud between his manager Ezra and gangster Sam Ross. Neither wants Johnny simply for his talent, but are instead aiming for the power and fame his image might bring.

In the program notes, Jez Butterworth's Mojo is described as “a piece of theatre that taps into the propulsive, thrilling, antagonistic energy of the teenager”. Really though, it is a world of celebrity and violence that audience members are unlikely to see as reflecting their teenage selves. As such, it's perhaps best looked at and enjoyed as a sensational fantasyland.

Lord Acton’s adage sums up the plot easily: “power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely”. In parallel with their leaders, the social dynamics and masculine bravado of Butterworth's young posse fuel the battle for superiority. There’s the runt, the psycho, the manipulator and the minion. It’s a bit like revisiting the social stereotypes of John Hughes’ The Breakfast Club, but with testosterone-fired cabin fever. No matter if these characters exercise intelligence or stupidity, all roads eventually lead to catastrophe.

Butterworth’s work is both seriously terrifying and farcical. This was his first play, written in 1995 at the age of 24, and in some ways that is evident. Each characters’ personality is too varied at times to create familiarity, and a lull in the dialogue and narrative direction causes a lack of momentum in the second act. For the most part, however, there is compensation in the goofy humour and irresistible lyricism of Butterworth’s text.

Iain Sinclair's staging borrows several aesthetic elements from the 1997 feature film. Pomade and cigarettes are rife, representing the late 1950s with an authentic grunge. Pip Runciman’s set is particularly exciting with a revolve at the back, a mezzanine level running the perimeter of the stage, and rib-like metal beams curving across the ceiling. Athough Mojo’s promotional flyer promised live music, there is disappointingly little besides the incidental tinkle of a cymbal or rumble of the bass drum.

In a strong cast, Eamon Farren stands out in the role of Skinny, gaining both laughs and sympathy from the audience. The death scene was well executed and incorporated a typical British black humour. Lindsay Farris was a last minute addition to the cast and is not quite cohesive within the ensemble. Given the circumstances though he does an admirable job in the role of Baby and gives a powerful and menacing performance. In his Sydney Theatre Company debut, rock musician Jeremy Davidson showcased some fine vocal chops, but his dancing and dialogue sometimes seemed half-hearted.

The entire cast should be applauded for performing to a particularly difficult and unresponsive crowd. At the conclusion of the performance, a handful of audients hurried from the theatre before clapping the performers. This seems to be an increasingly popular, but excruciatingly rude trend.

Mojo is perhaps not the strongest offering in Sydney Theatre Company’s season, but it certainly gets the heart pumping.

Mojo is at Wharf 1 Theatre, Sydney until July 5.

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