Imagine your car has found itself in a rather sticky situation, lodged in a ditch. You’ve got a couple of options to get it back on the bitumen. You could rally your mates, give a hearty “one, two, three, push!”, and with a collective heave, feel the tyres find traction and the vehicle rumble back onto solid ground. The job gets done, the journey continues.
Alternatively, you could shoo everyone away, stand back, and watch as one incredibly determined individual plants their feet firmly in the mud, straining every sinew to drag the car out solo. It’s a spectacle, no doubt, and it might even achieve the desired outcome.
The crucial difference lies in the intent. In the first scenario, the effort is a practical means to an end. In the second, the effort itself becomes the main event, with the sheer labour potentially overshadowing the original purpose of the journey.
This very distinction has always been my sticking point with one-person theatrical productions. If the fundamental aim of theatre is to immerse the audience in a compelling story, expertly delivered – to get that metaphorical car out of the ditch – then does it truly matter if a single performer bears the entire burden? Surely, a full cast could manage the load just as effectively, perhaps even more subtly.
When the sheer feat of performance takes centre stage, something can shift. Regardless of an actor’s extraordinary stamina or skill, the conspicuousness of their exertion can, at times, eclipse the very narrative it’s meant to serve.
This very tension is palpable in the West End’s latest adaptation of Dracula, gracing the stage at the Noël Coward Theatre, where the immensely talented Cynthia Erivo undertakes a truly monumental task.
For an intense two hours, Erivo seamlessly embodies not just one character, but a staggering twenty-three distinct roles. She navigates a whirlwind of personas – Van Helsing, Mina, Jonathan Harker, Lucy, Renfield, Seward, and even Dracula himself – with barely a moment to catch her breath and without ever truly leaving the stage.
To put it plainly, it was, without hyperbole, one of the most demanding feats I have ever witnessed on a theatrical stage. Yet, throughout the performance, I found myself questioning the inherent value of creating such profound difficulty purely for the sake of proving it can be done.
The production, which premiered on February 16th, is helmed by director Kip Williams. Williams is renowned for his innovative fusion of live performance and video design, a signature style he has pushed to its absolute limits here.
His approach centres on a complex interplay between Erivo’s live action and meticulously pre-recorded film segments. This necessitates not only Erivo’s ability to forge unique physical and vocal identities for each character but also her uncanny precision in hitting cues. This accuracy is vital for the filmed versions of herself to respond in perfect synchronicity.
The stage is a constant hive of activity, with cameras tracking Erivo’s every move, projecting the footage onto a towering screen. She is in perpetual motion, perpetually speaking.
Remarkably, some characters exist solely within the digital realm, never physically sharing the stage with the live performer. This subtle, yet effective, choice serves as a nod to the classic vampire lore, where certain creatures are said to cast no reflection in mirrors.
The Case for a One-Woman Dracula
Visually, the intricate tapestry woven from these disparate elements is often breathtaking. The solo conceit also cleverly aligns with Bram Stoker’s novel, which is famously structured as a collection of letters and diary entries. When a character is ‘writing’ their journal or composing a letter, they appear live before us. Their intended recipients then materialise on the screen behind, flickering into existence like tangible memories.
This dynamic interplay between presence and projection cultivates a unique hierarchy of perspective. At any given moment, only one viewpoint feels fully corporeal, effectively anchoring us to a single consciousness, a single pen scratching across paper, while the others remain tantalisingly out of reach.
The advantages of this solo format extend beyond the narrative. The sheer scale of the video projection ensures that there are few, if any, “bad seats” in the house. Furthermore, the seamless blend of live and filmed action allows for theatrical flourishes that would be simply impossible in a traditional staging.
Consider, for instance, a dreamlike sequence between Dracula and Lucy. Here, recorded and live movements are layered to create a profoundly disorienting effect. Equally spellbinding is a brief moment where Erivo steps to the very edge of the stage and sings as Dracula, stripped bare of any technological scaffolding. Its impact is amplified precisely because it breaks the established pattern.
And then, of course, there is Cynthia Erivo herself. Her exceptional talent is, perhaps, the least surprising element of the evening.
She is utterly magnetic, her performance meticulously crafted and emotionally resonant throughout. Even while managing an almost unmanageable technical load, she unearths moments of both dark humour and chilling menace.
At their most potent, Erivo’s transformations between characters are nothing short of startling. The shift from Jonathan Harker’s nervous energy to Mina’s composed intellect can be so precise that, for a fleeting moment, it’s easy to forget they inhabit the same body.
Dracula, at its core, is a story about repression, contagion, and the clash between desire and societal propriety. It explores the fragmentation of identity under pressure, and the constant doubling – a live body here, a filmed apparition there – powerfully reinforces this sense of fractured self, as though we are witnessing a mind in internal conflict.
Moreover, with Erivo, who is openly queer and fluid in her presentation of masculinity and femininity, inhabiting every role, the novel’s inherent homoerotic undertones surface with a clarity that feels both remarkably modern and undeniably radical.
But Is It Worth the Effort?
Despite these undeniable strengths, the solo conceit does have its limitations. There are moments that, in the hands of an actor of Erivo’s calibre, could have been truly extraordinary. Instead, they can feel rushed or superficial, a consequence of her simply having far too much on her plate.
Some of the male characters, particularly Seward and Harker, can blur at the edges. And the initial appearance of Van Helsing, complete with a flowing white wig and beard, elicited involuntary chuckles from the audience.
There’s an undeniable touch of the cartoonish in some of the disguises and Erivo’s embodiment of them. This is perhaps an inevitable outcome when one performer must render every single character distinct from all the others. In these instances, the precariousness of the entire enterprise becomes palpable.
The production teeters on a knife’s edge between audacious brilliance and outright absurdity. Every so often, it wobbles, threatening to tip from sheer virtuosity into unintentional comedy. This instability is, in part, a direct result of the formidable technical demands.
Each interaction Erivo has with her on-screen counterparts relies on near-perfect timing. Consequently, over the course of the evening, there were perhaps a dozen noticeable slips: a stumbled word, a rushed beat, a pause that lingered a fraction too long.
In a different context, such minor imperfections might be easily overlooked. Here, however, it seemed remarkable that there weren’t more, given that Erivo is essentially reciting a substantial portion of a novel while simultaneously executing intricate choreography and rapid costume changes.
As the final act unfolded, I found myself increasingly conscious of the human cost of this relentless performance. When the standing ovation finally arrived, the applause carried an unmistakable undercurrent of secondhand exhaustion.
Frankly, I struggle to comprehend how Erivo will endure this entire run without succumbing to physical and mental exhaustion. To call her performance generous would be a profound understatement; Erivo is pushing herself to the absolute limit with this show.
In the theatre foyer afterwards, conversations gravitated less towards the tragic fate of Lucy or the ordeal of Mina, and more towards expressions of concern for Erivo’s well-being after a sixteen-week run of such an intensely demanding production.
Ultimately, the car does get pulled from the ditch. The narrative arc is completed, the striking imagery lingers, and the audience departs thoroughly impressed. However, I confess a curiosity to witness this adaptation reimagined and distributed amongst a full cast, thereby releasing it from the inherent tension of its own audacious premise.
Could I have become more deeply immersed in the journey if I hadn’t been so acutely aware of Erivo’s near-superhuman effort to get the car back on the road? Is it truly necessary for her to prove she can accomplish such a monumental task entirely on her own?
That said, it is impossible not to marvel at such an ambitious undertaking. And if the car gets out of the ditch regardless of the method, there’s certainly an argument to be made that a single individual possessing superhuman strength tackling the task makes for a more captivating evening.
Therefore, if you arrive at the Noël Coward Theatre prepared to be as awestruck by the sheer feat of performance as you are to lose yourself in a classic gothic tale, you are unlikely to be disappointed.
