There were immediate grumbles when two of the four names were revealed to be famous comic Frank Skinner and famous actor Katherine Parkinson – the argument being that it would be preferable for the scheme to give a leg up to talented new voices, rather than established names who’d never shown any previous interest in writing for the stage.
Then, just before the Fringe started, one of the four plays – ‘Hoard’, by journalist Bim Adewunmi – was binned without explanation.
And now I must solemnly report that Skinner’s play, ‘Nina’s Got News’, is dreadful.
It begins with Nina (Jessica Clark) having an improbably drawn-out conversation with her ex-boyfriend Chris (comic Rob Auton), who she has notionally invited over to share some news, but instead she mercilessly rips the piss out of his prowess as a lover, while he bleats a feeble defence. It’s clangingly unbelievable, but at least you can sort of rationalise it as a standup routine about male inadequacy awkwardly extrapolated into a two-hander.
Eventually, Nina’s sarcastic pal Vannessa (Breffni Holahan) joins them, and Nina is finally ready to share her news.
Unfortunately Skinner’s flat, laboured dialogue is entirely inadequate for doing anything of interest with the revelation. Despite the added supernatural element, ‘Nina’s Got News’ conspires to become actively tedious as the same limp battle-of-the-sexes dialogue continues to flop out joylessly.
There may be a laboured metaphor to do with Skinner’s Catholic faith at play, but it’s difficult to really say. It feels like Polina Kalinina’s production needed a level of dramaturgical support that it simply didn’t receive – whether because it wasn’t offered, or because the nature of the schene is that Skinner might have simply bailed on the project if his writing was subjected to the sort of dissection and scrutiny another playwright would have. I’m at a loss to imagine why ‘Hoard’ would have been cancelled: it surely couldn’t have been for reasons of quality control if this was allowed through.
On the limited plus side, Holahan and Clarke give committed performances, albeit they hardly make the characters likeable or relatable. A comic rather than an actor, Auton is hopelessly stilted – probably he can’t act, though perhaps he’s just embarrassed. And Skinner is obviously still a funny man: there are some amusing lines… they just don’t sound like human dialogue.
All-in-all it’s a bit of a cock up. I’m totally relaxed about celebrities writing plays – if they have a good play in them. But persuading Skinner to chance his arm at playwrighting when he would appear not to be up to it feels like a total waste of everybody’s time.