True Crime, unless expertly selected and created, easily becomes an exploitation of real-life horror and suffering for cheap entertainment.
Press Night for Kenrex, written and performed by Jack Holden, was received with rapturous cheers and applause, not to mention a standing ovation – although these are handed out so frequently nowadays, they signify little. By all accounts, Kenrex is being lauded and revered. So, I recognise I am in a small minority. Nevertheless, Kenrex is at best, a bit tedious, and at worst, a bit deplorable.
In short, Kenrex is an adaptation of a true crime story. It goes without saying – though I shall say it to ensure balance – that Holden’s choice to perform a two hour show and play every character is a skill, and a feat of endurance and stamina. But other than ostentatiously displaying this skill, the question still very much remains: why? Literally, why? Sure, it’s mildly amusing within the first ten minutes to see this man metamorphose into a host of small-town Midwestern Americans. But after this initial display, it’s just annoying.
Sure, it wasn’t all horrendous: the live musician (John Patrick Elliot) was an engaging addition; his musical interludes were welcome entertainment and did much to cultivate the Americana vibe. The minimal staging and set design (Anisha Fields) were also inventive, working with versatility in tandem with Holden, who commands the space well.
The biggest issue with the one-man extravaganza is that it feels self-indulgent. Holden is the writer of this piece, and it’s hard not to sense that Kenrex is a contrived showcase for his skill, rather than a show teeming with narrative, or a story that needed to be told. Which brings us to the story. The story: it’s 1981, and an unintelligent man, prone to violence, theft, and, oh yeah, statutory rape, is terrorising the small Midwestern village of Skidmore, Missouri. The point of intrigue – I think – is that, despite a host of convictions, Kenrex McElroy has never spent a night in jail. This is because of his attorney, who unfailingly identifies judicial loopholes. But even this narrative crux is unimpressive: Skidmore’s small population size and the absence of a police department within an hour radius or efficient bureaucratic procedure, is the predominant reason for Kenrex’s reign of terror.
The pointlessness and indeed, untenability of the one-man show was clearly evidenced by the fact that frequently, it relied on pre-recorded voices to fill in for other people when Holden was otherwise occupied. Theatre should be a space for experimentation, and Holden’s ambition deserves recognition. Yet, if you are going to create a show in which one man plays every role, then surely, you can’t rely on external means to fill in the gaps? It’s lazy, and it’s testament to a failure in your endeavour.
Another point of discomfort – spoiler alert ahead – is the inclusion of Kenrex’s 14-year-old wife, Trina, whom he groomed, impregnated, then married to sidestep accusations of statutory rape (another legal loophole). For Holden, the adoption of every character does lend itself to caricature and pantomime performance, so to caricature Trina, a clear victim, farms trauma for entertainment. It’s crass and in poor taste. And in this vein, the ending feels entirely unclear: what questions have been explored by this piece? Why did it need telling? Was there really any moral ambiguity? What did this achieve for the victims? And why, why, are we rehashing another tale of a murderous misogynist who does nothing but damage? True Crime, unless expertly selected and created, easily becomes an exploitation of real-life horror and suffering for cheap entertainment. It’s one thing to employ such entertainment for podcast material, but another entirely for the theatre.