Eight Miles High

Published Thursday 24 July 2008 at 12:05 by Chris High

With the auditorium undergoing something of a transformation, the Royal Court has - once again - pulled out all the stops in delivering another top quality production. A field, complete with grassy knoll, is taken over by a band of hippies in the early seventies, much to the chagrin of a local landowner and his slimy sidekick.

And herein lies the problem - a storyline notable only for its complete lack of any substance, propelled by a series of monologues that have been pasted together around some classic songs of the day, such as California Dreamin’ and Born to Be Wild, played and sung by members of the cast.

Those involved try hard with what they have. Outside of the incomparable Eithne Browne and Andrew Schofield, the credits must go to Paul Broughton’s strangely endearing Hell’s Angel and Keith Carter’s MC, whose stoned ad-libbing is just tremendous fun that keeps the show rolling when it seems destined to stall altogether.

Eight Miles High has not travelled well through time and appears dated and pretty much irrelevant. Other than for Schofield’s Traveller, who speaks in comic verse delivered with immaculate timing, there isn’t anything with any originality on display, so the whole thing boils up into something of cliche-ridden hotch-potch, with stereotyped characters playing out unconvincing scenarios.

All of which is quite strange, and not a little disappointing, given that Cartwright penned one the outstanding plays to be put on at the Royal Court last year, Two.

There are some moments to gladden the heart, but overall I’m afraid to say that Eight Miles High does not really scale the heights of some of its predecessors.