“Money’s power and freedom. Who’s not interested in that?” declares the sweaty trader sitting in front of us. He is rich and successful but he still can’t quite meet our eye. I guess in the post-crash climate it’s hard to find a trader or banker who can. But maybe this man has more reason than most to keep his gaze averted. Because he knows how to make more than just a killing on the markets. Life, like the market, can be a volatile thing and he reckons that it takes guts to hold your position. “The difference between winners and losers in this game is: winners know, when you’re in a bad situation, take the hit, however painful. Losers hold and hope.”
This man is determined not to lose, whatever the cost. But after surviving a car crash in which his wife, Alison, died, he feels unsettled. He takes up meditation and eventually tai chi (“If I don’t get enlightened, at least I’ll get limber”) and meets Kate, and soon they’ve moved in together.
There has been some research suggesting that some financial traders display a psychopathic lack of empathy. Andy Duffy’s monologue, performed with a febrile intensity by Jamie Michie, offers a portrait of a man who knows how to sound like a human being but who is hollow and heartless, and so used to taking risks at work that he operates the same way in his private life. The women remain voiceless.
It’s an oddly unsatisfying piece, because it’s unclear what his purpose is in talking to us. Is this some kind of confession or a self-justification? Is it an exercise in creating empathy in the audience for a man entirely without empathy? More psychological thriller than critique of the banking industry, this tight 60 minutes grips but never illuminates.
- At the Traverse, Edinburgh, until 30 August. Box office: 0131 226 0000.
