My Dad's a Birdman, Young Vic

Skellig author and pop royalty collaborate on bittersweet kids' play

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'My Dad's a Birdman': "Dad" and "Mr Poop"
'My Dad's a Birdman': "Dad" and "Mr Poop"
Young Vic

There's a kitchen-sink feel to this children's play by David Almond – indeed, nine-tenths of it takes place in a Newcastle kitchen – which adds a certain edge to it. Even though the broad, cartoonish comedy is signalled from the off, there's an initial hint of real-life grimness in the scenario of a little girl trying to care for her unkempt father who won't eat properly, emits abrupt shrieks and is convinced he is a bird. There's an engagement with loss that runs through the play too, a bittersweetness that makes it completely unsurprising that the Pet Shop Boys, those masters of putting a sting in the tail of a simple pop song, should have chosen to provide music for this production.

Birdman_2All that said, though, My Dad's a Birdman is essentially a romp. The comedy, which comes thick and fast, is mainly based on loud noises, abrupt exclamations, falling over, eating worms and making a fool of authority figures: all the things children love best. It is manic, hectic and silly, but thanks to the brilliantly choreographed physical performances of all involved, especially David Annen and Charlie Sanderson in the lead roles as Dad and Lizzie, it's anything but slapdash.

An air of ever-so-slightly-nightmarish surrealism is added by regular interjections from the fez-wearing organiser of the Great Human Bird Competition, Mr Poop, and there's some old-fashioned sauciness in the relationship between Aunt Doreen and the schoolteacher Mr Mint who flirt awkwardly over dumplings. The language is rich and toothsome throughout, from “the man's as barmy as butter” to “there's a bloke from Brazil with an umbrella on his head and a propellor on his bum”, and the kids in the audience lap it up, shouting encouragement to characters unselfconsciously.

The Pet Shop Boys' contributions, perhaps to the disappointment of some obvious groups of fans in the audience, are unobtrusive. They're instantly recognisable as the duo's synth-pop structures, but are woven into the dramatic structure of the piece just so. It'd be lovely to think that lines in the songs like “Evening's coming on/ Like a lovely buttered scone” were Neil Tennant's, but it appears the lyrics were all Almond's.

The story of everyday madness and unorthodox family bonds is a joy to watch – maximum use is made of simple theatrical effects, but overall it is about brilliant group playing and delight in language. It would make a very fine pantomime substitute for anyone with an aversion to fading soap stars – but regardless of the season, for adult and child alike it's an absolute tonic.

There's some old-fashioned sauciness in the relationship between Aunt Doreen and the schoolteacher Mr Mint who flirt awkwardly over dumplings

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