Midnight Cowboy
Joe Buck is a spectacular contradiction àbright-eyed, wholesome and trusting by nature, but a gigolo by trade, and at no point is it suggested that this should be an impossible combination.
| 14 Aug 2006
To the man who said on leaving the theatre; "There aren't many stories in which the protagonist is the least interesting character, so I find it hard to see why 'Midnight Cowboy' should work so well," I have this to say:
'Midnight Cowboy' is one of the greatest tragedies of modern literature, cinema and now theatre. Joe Buck is a spectacular contradiction – bright-eyed, wholesome and trusting by nature, but a gigolo by trade, and at no point is it suggested that this should be an impossible combination. His loss of innocence, as a youth whose dreams are smashed, mirrors that of a generation caught up in an endless war, and of a nation who has betrayed its relationship with the land for urbanity and sophistication. The story of Joe Buck is bigger than one man, and for that alone he is fascinating.
Charles Aitken's performance is achingly honest, and he glows with youthful enthusiasm. Con O'Neill slips comfortably into Ratso Rizzo's mismatched shoes and ill-fitting suit, cutting a tragic figure with his crippled limp and whining voice, exuding desperation at every turn. But the small, adept supporting cast cannot hope to match the scale of New York's facelessness, and here the production falters slightly. [Julie Balazs]
'Midnight Cowboy' is one of the greatest tragedies of modern literature, cinema and now theatre. Joe Buck is a spectacular contradiction – bright-eyed, wholesome and trusting by nature, but a gigolo by trade, and at no point is it suggested that this should be an impossible combination. His loss of innocence, as a youth whose dreams are smashed, mirrors that of a generation caught up in an endless war, and of a nation who has betrayed its relationship with the land for urbanity and sophistication. The story of Joe Buck is bigger than one man, and for that alone he is fascinating.
Charles Aitken's performance is achingly honest, and he glows with youthful enthusiasm. Con O'Neill slips comfortably into Ratso Rizzo's mismatched shoes and ill-fitting suit, cutting a tragic figure with his crippled limp and whining voice, exuding desperation at every turn. But the small, adept supporting cast cannot hope to match the scale of New York's facelessness, and here the production falters slightly. [Julie Balazs]
Assembly Rooms, Edinburgh until August 28.