The Cadaver Palaver

Victorian adventurer and raconteur extraordinaire, Bennett Cooper Sullivan, has returned from his latest astonishing imbroglio and now feels compelled to recount to us his arduous journeys – Cairo, Edinburgh, London - his near unbelievable hair-breadth escapes, and his many brushes with vice and death – all to keep us on the edge of our seats and breathless with excitement! 

Alone on the perhaps less than salubrious Butterfly Club stage, Cooper Sullivan’s presence is nevertheless riveting.  Tall, impeccably attired, magnificently bearded and moustachioed, he is able to summon up a vivid variety of characters in voice and expression, both murderous and seductive - and illustrate his break-neck speed spiel with sensuous and precise movements. 

His tale is nothing if not exotic, action-packed - and verging on the, well, slightly hard to believe.  Move over John Buchan, move over Rafael Sabatini, and Indiana Jones...  That is, if any such intrepid figure had his tongue firmly fixed in his cheek.

The performer is Christopher Samuel Carroll and Bennett Cooper Sullivan is his latest incarnation.  Carroll is a most impressive theatre maker – writer, actor, producer, and teacher.  In The Cadaver Palaver, he is an imposing, authoritative figure – but also his movements come from his Lecoq training.  His mellow, perfectly pitched tones (he is Irish) suit the flow of his 19^th century prose – erudite, allusive, archaic but always comprehensible.

We must say, however, that the reckless, relentless speed of his delivery often leaves his audience behind.  Not only does he almost talk over himself, but he also leaves scant pauses both for him to take a breath and for us to take in what he’s just told us.  Thus, the significance or, indeed, the humour can be swallowed up.  What we see here is a virtuoso performance of great skill and great presence but sadly not a lot of point.  His superb performance looks a bit like display for its own sake.  Perhaps there’s an element of satire on the Boys’ Own adventure genre in there somewhere, but if that’s the intention it needs more edge.  It’s most enjoyable (if perhaps over-egged and over-extended), but at the end we are let down just a little, wondering just why we’ve been told this story.  Of his many skills, Carroll has here neglected an important element of ‘writer’ and thus leaves us mostly with admiration for his performance.

Michael Brindley