Death becomes him

reviewed one helluva lifeking's theatre, glasgowrun endedking's theatre, edinburghfebruary 3-8HHH just one more dancefountainpark leisure centre, edinburghrun endedtramway, glasgowfebruary 11-14HHHH "THERE'S nothing as dead as a dead actor," remarks the faded matinee idol John Barrymore in One Helluva Life. It's a poignant line with a ring of truth - one of several in William Luce's biographical play, set a few months before its protagonist's death in 1942. And it neatly counterpoints the play's jaunty title. In his heyday he was America's biggest star, adored by women and admired by his peers - when Barrymore suddenly plunged into Shakespeare aged 38, Laurence Olivier thought he played Hamlet "to perfection". But four messed-up marriages and a lake of liquor took their toll and ultimately the public lost interest.

We find Barrymore in a deserted theatre, struggling to reinvigorate his frayed talent for a comeback. Tom Conti's portrayal of him is wonderfully affecting: his resigned melancholia is shot through with knowing wit; his wisecracks are timed to perfection and he plays drunk with balletic finesse.

But Luce's Tony Award-winning script lacks dramatic drive. Structured on two standard models - the life history revealed in two hours of real time; and the progressively darkening comedy - it becomes a meandering string of anecdotes with no urgent sense of conflict or crisis. The device of a second character offstage - Barrymore's faithful prompter Frank - becomes increasingly stilted. And the snatches of Richard III, Hamlet and Henry V demonstrate Barrymore's failing powers less than Conti's fiery way with Shakespeare. It does make you want to see his Lear though.

A much more sober view of imminent death is offered in Just One More Dance, Adrian Osmond's adaptation of the Holocaust memoir by Glasgow resident Ernest Levy. Revived following a successful run at Tramway last year, it tells Levy's story of persecution, exile, arrest, captivity and ultimate survival in a mere 65 minutes. In a sense this brevity is its weakness: the material would certainly merit a longer, more detailed treatment.

But the Holocaust was a crime of such staggering scale that it's all but impossible to give it full artistic expression. Osmond's production is geared to young audiences, its educative purpose enhanced by a brief documentary presentation at the end. We must be vigilant if we are to avert similar catastrophes, explains Levy in a video statement. Despite the occasional preachy cliche in Osmond's script, this is more than mere utilitarian polemic.

The five actors play numerous characters with admirable restraint. Alastair Bruce brings quiet dignity to the young Levy and Tommy Mullins is outstanding in several roles. The three-space setting - representing the family home in Czechoslovakia, a death camp dormitory and the cold, bleak expanses of the compound - lends the show a chilling sense of dislocation. Dehumanisation is a key theme, well illustrated when the Tannoy brusquely marshalls the audience between seating areas.

Yet for all the fear, grief and pain, Osmond shows commendable respect for Levy's faith and optimism. Several scenes focus on the succour of good-hearted Germans; others suggest his survival depended on a refusal to reject God. It's a horrifying reminder, nonetheless, of what can happen when xenophobia is allowed to flourish.

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