Review: GOLDFISH at Bridewell Theatre

More often than not however, what is presented needs… further work (or perhaps a new angle). Such a case in point has just presented itself at the Bridewell, where for a few performances only, Nina Beck’s effort GOLDFISH is being performed by a willing young cast under the guidance of an experienced director (Guy McNair-Wilson) who should be commended for having eked as much as is humanly possible from a peculiarly intriguing premise. The end result however, is often an incongruous mix of stolid nonsense with occasional glimmers of something interesting - rather like the plain but occasionally shimmering salmon, which features prominently.

We’re in the Klondike, circa late 1890s and life is hard. The gold in “them thar hills” has all but dried-up and the “rush” has slowed to a trickle. What can a frontier town’s mayor, (with a lingering credibility problem), do to brighten-up the lives of his townsfolk and perhaps even attract new blood? As luck would have it, a prospector’s daughter gets swept away in a raging torrent, only to be found further downstream, unscathed and clutching a bucket with the aforementioned fish. It’s a miracle! Hallelujah. Now, how do we make a buck outta this?

Jefferson “Soapy” Smith (Ben Keenan) communes with the small fish as it flits animatedly about the tank in which it has been incarcerated. He believes it speaks to him (although irritatingly, we never learn what piscine platitudes it has supposedly imparted). A sceptical local resident Tappan Adney (Sam Newman) declares the charlatan mayor is up to something fishy. Soapy is having none of it and doubles down on his (b)lather and sends for an out-of-state critter expert to vindicate his miraculous Dolittle-esque discovery. Enter Kathleen Power (Ingrid Werner) who is not only a woman (hold the front page) but is also a renowned zoologist. Furthermore, she happens to have been waiting for an invitation to return to that particular gold rush outpost, as it is where she abandoned her baby son and his father (the unsuspecting Soapy), ten years earlier. It’s at this point that we grudgingly concede that a talking salmon, is likely to be the most believable element of the story.

Fed presumably on a nutritious Alaskan diet of utter bullshit, the Sockeye, which initially appeared animated and glowing a couple of weeks earlier, has inexplicably grown to ten times its size. It is also markedly sedentary by the time our lady fish whisperer arrives to conduct her scientific investigations to determine whether a miracle has transpired. Unsurprisingly she is unconvinced, but gets a chance to chat with her sickly ten year old who realises that the best way to end the nonsense and put us all out of our misery, is to grab the fish and run off with it — presumably with the intention of returning it to the murky depths where it can do no more harm.

As the central snake oil salesman, Irishman Ben Keenan does a neat South Carolina drawl (think Kevin Spacey in House of Cards), while various townsfolk mutter and mingle to emulate the hamlet’s minuscule muddied multitude.

The best that can be said for the naive writing, is that it is the sort of material which possesses enormous (albeit unintended) inherent potential for turning into an hilarious comedy musical (a guaranteed 5-star cross between Anyone Can Whistle, The Producers and Paint Your Wagon). I mean it. I REALLY do. It would be pure gold and if anyone ever writes “Salmon Fever” I will be first in the queue for tickets.

The director’s extended family, (including his former brother-in-law, Wimbledon champ Pat Cash) pitched-up for the opening night at the intimate venue on Tuesday evening, where GOLDFISH plays 80mins straight through and continues until 7th November.