Entering the intimate setting of The Point’s studio space, I was struck by the sense of familiarity in the room as Shôn Dale-Jones shook hands with us, with every audience member, with warm compassion radiating from his eyes. Immediately, Dale-Jones came across as genuine, and when, at the start and the end of the show, he told us that we were kind and generous, I believed him and really wanted to be what he said I was.
The performance I had gone to see, The Duke, was first performed in 2016 in response to the refugee crisis, an issue which is as present now as it was back then. So, on the evening of April 4 at The Point, I found myself moved by the narrative of his one-man show as it shone a light on the tragedy we see playing out day after day, year after year; for 9 years to have passed and the script to hit just as hard is no coincidence but a reflection of our modern dilemma.
Using his work as a vehicle for good, Shôn Dale-Jones asked us to donate to Save The Children’s Emergency Fund. It is worth noting that this award winning Fringe First show, along with the show Me & Robin Hood, has raised over £100,000 for charities that act on the messaging of his work.
Dale-Jones’ show had no sets or costumes. Before us, sat a man with a laptop, a microphone, and remote. Don’t think this is a criticism – for this kind of stripped back performance was certainly not a bad thing. In fact, this set up really allowed the words themselves to shine. And what brilliant words they were.
Despite the tragedy within these words which I have highlighted already, the show itself is actually very funny. It takes some talent to balance such poignant issues with humour but Dale-Jones did so in a masterful way.
The narrative, partially fictionalised and partially real, tells the story of a Royal Worcester porcelain figure of the Duke of Wellington on horseback which his father had purchased as an investment in 1974 (part of a set of 4 which his father couldn’t afford to buy at the time) which his mother had accidentally broken, years after the passing of her husband.
In the story he told, there is a second layer to the narrative, in which Dale-Jones also told us of the (very Welsh) film script he had written 87 drafts of, which had then been seen by a producer who offered great sums of money for it; the catch here was that he would need to change the entire essence of the (very Welsh) script to do so (making it very American instead).
The third layer to this narrative is the struggle of refugees which Dale-Jones sees or hears around him, in the form of media broadcasts and in a family he meets who have no idea where the father is, whether he is alive or dead.
In his writing, Dale-Jones expertly weaves these strands together, each one building on the others. He makes us consider the idea of investing through the motifs of the porcelain figures, the film script, and the sunken ship of refugees.
When is it worth risking it all?
Is it ever worth selling out on our values?
How can we avoid the tragedies of these modern times?
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