Memories of yesterday shine in Barney Norris’s new play about youth, nostalgia and the paths we choose not to take. After 20 years apart, three school friends from Salisbury are back in their old band rehearsal room, to reform, for a one-off charity gig. Their lives have moved in different directions. Joe (James Westphal), the drummer and the brains behind the reunion, has stayed in Salisbury, gone through a catastrophic divorce and got a job at a Games Workshop. Ellie (Laura Evelyn), the singer, is in the process of moving back to Salisbury and trying for a baby, after years in London. And Ross (Royce Cronin), the ‘most famous’ of the three, is still a guitar player, but has wasted away his adult years clinging on to a dream.
The post-pandemic and post-Novichok poisonings Salisbury we find them in has grown up from the one they knew, too. Neighbours have left, the shops they used to visit daily are owned by new faces. Their community now feels weirdly unfamiliar. But, even though the decades have passed, they still feel a strange pull to the place that made them. Norris, who also grew up in Salisbury and recently ran as the Green Party candidate there, makes the city as large a character as his people.
And so, the three bandmates have reluctantly come back for one last taste of almost stardom - back in their heyday they had a song played on Radio 2. The early scenes of Norris’ play show them re-establishing their lost connection and are full of awkward exchanges and droll recollections. Westphal makes Joe a jittery mess, desperate for the best bits of their past to once again become the present. Evelyn’s Ellie sputters out put downs, that veer on flirtation, clumsily, and we see her regret each time she speaks without thought. As individuals, they play their characters’ apprehension, but these early scenes feel a little stagnant.
Norris also directs this production, which started its life at Surrey arts centre Farnham Maltings. And while it is wonderfully wistful throughout, it could be nudged further in almost all places. As the scenes play on, we fall for each of the band mates, as we would for our own childhood friends. But, we want to know more about their early years together and the others they spent apart. Once the music kicks in, the rush of forgotten years flood the stage. But, there could be more songs: the tunes speak the words the band cannot voice to each other. So much, frustratingly, feels left unsaid.
The trio stand singing their songs again. It’s just now, they’re adults playing out an old dream. At some point it feels like we stop watching a play and start watching a concert – and in those moments, the room does feel like magic.
