The crinkling of a sweetie wrapper, in the theatre, is usually met with an icy stare or a stoic silence. Not so in director Jonnie Riordan’s production of Toast, adapted from Nigel Slater’s award-winning biography by Henry Filloux-Bennett, in which the unwrapping – and licking out! – of a Walnut Whip is positively encouraged. As is the savouring of a lemon cake and chewing of confectionery, which are handed out at regular intervals and in generous portions during the course of the 140-minute show which premiered at The Lowry before embarking on a sell-out run at last year’s Edinburgh Fringe.

Unfortunately, Nigel’s (Giles Cooper’s) withering assessment of his mother’s (Lizzie Muncey’s) baking applies to this production: “more jam than pastry”. For there’s very little depth or dramatic edge to the script; many of the scenes, albeit well choreographed and ably executed, are stand-alone sequences which seldom develop plot or character; and the staging which comprises a fixed worktop complete with Aga, fridge freezer and homely toaster, before which various counters are wheeled into position like synchronised swimmers, is uninspiring.

Where the pulse is quickened, however, is in the fraught relationship between Nigel and his father (Stephen Ventura), which descends into bullying, both physical beatings and verbal taunts, following the death of his mother; and when Nigel’s sexuality is awakened following the sight of a topless gardener, the discovery of a dogging/cruising site in a local lay-by and the arrival of his boss’s ballet dancing son. But none of these areas are explored in any great depth or detail and are quickly brushed under the swirl-patterned carpet to keep in with the gentle tone which can best be described as: a lazy Sunday evening curled up on the sofa in front of the TV with a cup of tea and a slice of toast.

Giles Cooper delivers a fine performance in the lead role and carries the show with great confidence, subtlety and energy: boyish and naive in short trousers; grief-stricken and lonely in long. Stephen Ventura is solid as the strait-laced father. And though Lizzie Muncey does a fine Mrs Overall, she is far too cartoonish to elicit empathy – which is a major problem given than the mother-son relationship lies at the heart of the play. The moral of which appears to be, in life as in cooking, don’t be afraid to stray from the tried and tested, for “recipes are just someone else telling you what they like.”

Peter Callaghan
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