Jorvik review
Intimate evocation of a Viking victory celebration featuring fighting, singalongs and a lot of drinking
Skol! “Pluck the fine herring from your teeth,” exhorts Oliver Strong’s bearded, burly Viking master of ceremonies, as he bids us raise our horns of mead in a rousing toast to our victorious capture of Eoforwic – soon to be renamed Jorvik (and, much later, York). “It’s time to shake the foundations of Asgard!”
Never mind the herring – writer and performer Charlie Blanshard’s minimalist, interactive two-hander, which casts the audience as exultant warriors at an increasingly drunken after-battle party, knowingly embraces a fair measure of Norse cod. However, Strong, complete with fearsome warpaint, and the long-haired, similarly bearded Blandshard (as Ubba, the resentful older brother of the wonderfully named marauder chieftain Ivar the Boneless) perform with such confident, swaggering bonhomie that you can see why they garnered rave reviews at the show’s Viking Festival debut in York. Even in tunics and leather belts that look as if they were purchased from an online fancy-dress outlet.
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Moreover, Blanshard’s rich, impressionistic language blends salty rusticity with a love of Norse lore to create an intoxicating brew. Among pungent evocations of “skull-clogged earth” and “Thor’s goats” we get a lyrical invocation of “a wrinkled moon across... foreheads”. Meanwhile, our Viking MC “illuminates the sky with his emerald words". As the drink takes effect, the play’s mood becomes thoughtful, the conflicted Ubba morosely obsessing about family, bloodlines and the extent to which he will be remembered in future ages. Strong’s Loki-like shaman warns: “You are not the sculptor of your statue... Legacy – you have one. Is that not enough?”
But the overriding tone is chest-thumpingly jubilant – and great fun. Sitting in a circle around the performers, we are all roped into a little undemanding audience participation. One of us will be co-opted into being a mead bearer; we are all issued with a laminated lyric sheet and risk the wrath of Jörmungandr by not joining in a surprisingly plaintive seafaring song, superbly lead by Strong. Best of all, a number of punters are hustled into the centre of the playing area to act as powerful rowers, manoeuvring the invading longships along the Humber while enduring the barked commands of commanders Strong and Blandshard.
Elsewhere, there is stirring pre-recorded, pre-set music featuring martial drumming and wailing choirs, and the moody low lighting is supplied by some superbly authentic yet utterly harmless fake plastic candles – prompting humorous asides about the MC’s mystical powers. But the beards are real and rugged. Maybe it would have been nice to have had some genuine mead during the show – despite the hallucinative effect the super-strength Saxon concoction appeared to have on the characters. But, to paraphrase Blanshard, let the ravens squawk: our names will be forgotten – that’s why we make merry tonight!
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