“The team behind RUM handle Mallalieu’s material with immense skill and care”
Public consciousness has been raised, in recent years, to the concerns around male mental health and the damage that unfettered patriarchy inflicts on the men enforcing it. Toxic masculinity has become somewhat of a painful buzzword, an attempt to capture the pain and discourse of all of this abuse. The ways men have been taught and teach each other to behave has been a self flagellating cycle that with the advent of shows like Adolescence, and the exposure of real life horror stories of violence against women, people are generally more interested in understanding and putting an end to. However, sometimes the route taken to tell these stories explore it solely through an angle of pity, or plain sympathy, flattening the role of harm in the process.
Joe Mallalieu’s RUM explores this deeply, capturing the tragedy of toxic masculinity in a truly haunting fashion. A plasterer himself, Mallalieu’s show follows Danny as he tries to finish a job before heading to a funeral. We learn how he ended up in the profession, and see what it takes for him to work under such circumstances. The storytelling quality is nothing short of excellent. Mallalieu tells Danny’s stories with the familial quality of those told at the pub, leaning in over a wobbly table and damp mats. It’s as if he’s letting you in, to a world he’s carefully crafted himself over years, so he can be top dog at the local. There’s a strenuous expression of power, one that feels both dominating and sure to break. When it does, we see the mechanics of this masculinity unravel, and exposed to the stage, we see how it’s rigidity acts as a cage. One of the most powerful moments comes at a moment where Danny physically cannot find the words he would say to comfort a friend. Mallalieu strains his face, bulging in the light, mouth stretched open to such an extent that his silence is genuinely shocking. It’s an extraordinary demonstration of how this masculine bravado can disempower men to connect with one another truthfully. It’s not necessarily an original revelation, but it’s an incredibly raw exposure of this.
It’s clear that director Tess Seddon possesses an immense skill to capture subtext through movement, and a real attention to the material Mallalieu has written. There is a moment where we watch him plaster the wall, no dialogue, just the rhythmic sound of him scraping it onto and across the wall. This displayed a real appreciation of the craft of plastering, a self-explanatory moment of calm amongst the noise of the rest of the play. In another scene, Danny takes a call from his son, crying immensely, whilst keeping his voice as steady and regular as possible. So many of these moments showcase the heights of both Mallalieu as a performer and Seddon as a director. Together they make an excellent team.
This is assisted by a brilliant set, designed by Rūta Irbīte. Before the show begins, there’s already a unnerving quality set by the empty cans on the floor and the holes punched through the plaster on flats. He performs within the perimeters of a very clear box, a nice touch which compliments the content of the show. The onstage colour combination is good, matching his outfit, blending him into his place of work. There’s also a great use of the holes in the wall, complimented by some great lighting design by Amy Mae.
The team behind RUM show immense care for every detail of this story. It’s a showcase of real skill at every angle, and the result is a story that digs deep and draws you in. It is truly interrogative and occasionally intimidating—but this is where the authenticity lies. It is precisely what a show like this needs to be.