Richard Maxwell creates the theatrical equivalents of peeled-off banana skins: his plays are shells stripped from meaty emotions, mischievously employed to trip up unsuspecting audiences. Boxing 2000 features the same disorienting tricks as House - minimal set, monochrome acting, painstakingly realistic dialogue - but flummoxes mostly through its choice of venue. We sit in the wings to the left of the Barbican's main house, that hidden, amorphous space more usually inhabited by actors awaiting their cues. If we hadn't guessed it already, the moment we become ringside spectators at a boxing match stresses that we are on the stage and integral to the drama.
If indeed this is drama. The fight is a perfunctory affair, comprised of hard hugs, soft jabs and affected falls; the outcome is a matter of indifference. In this context, boxer Jerry's growls and scowls at his impassive opponent Freddie are ridiculous, mere ostentation, while Freddie's father's vehement outbursts at his son feel like pointless bluster. Maxwell relishes these contrasts; his play consistently seeks to undermine passion, to render it absurd. When Freddie attempts to propose to his girlfriend Marissa, she launches into a lecture on finding truth in one's heart (spoken as though reading off a train timetable), to which Freddie's response is a toneless, "What happened?" Characters even belittle their own speeches: the Promoter delivers a tirade against young people who don't ensure their futures, but ends with a dismissive, "Just invest or whatever." "What he said was true," says Freddie's brother Jo-Jo. "Yeah, but he took so long," replies Freddie.
An impish humour drives Boxing 2000, but Maxwell's deadpan comedy rarely comes at the expense of his characters. He has the trick of writing dialogue that sounds as real as the humdrum conversations one hears on trains (the drawback, of course, is that the play feels as inconsequential as the throwaway chats we have in daily life). The script is riddled with cliche - Jo-Jo mourning the lifestyles of today's youth, Marissa begging Freddie not to fight - but Maxwell reminds us that a cliche is often just a deeply held belief expressed by someone else first. He directs with surprising tenderness, instilling immense sympathy in his audience for Robert Torres's gormless Freddie, Benjamin Tejeda's proud Father and especially Gladys Perez's earnest Marissa. The vulnerability runs counter to the cool restraint of Maxwell's style, making Boxing 2000 subversive to its core.
Ends tomorrow. Box office: 020-7638 8891.
