Review: The Wonderful World of Hugh Hughes, Barbican Pit Theatre

Written for Time Out

Hugh Hughes could stare into the bottom of a pint glass, swill the dregs and still call it half-full. He sees the world through rose-tinted glasses and greets it with an open-mouthed smile of gormless wonder.

Everything is brilliant; everything's amazing. So brilliant and amazing, in fact, that the Welsh emerging artist feels his every discovery needs sharing. Far from grating, however, this permanent puppyish enthusiasm is infectious: just the tonic for for the cynicism and drudgery of London.

Hughes is the semi-fictional alter-ego of Shon Dale-Jones. He's not just a character in a play, but one that creates and stars in plays of his own making. The three shows that form the Barbican's mini-season, each having started life at the Edinburgh Fringe, are pockmarked with Hughes's characteristic naivety. They work because nothing quite works. Hughes's failures are Dale-Jones's successes.

In Floating, Hughes recounts how - just as he was leaving it - the Isle of Anglesey uprooted itself and toured the North Atlantic, unnoticed, while the world's eyes were on the Faulklands. The homely clutter and jumbled over-excitement is pared down for Story of a Rabbit - the most exquisite of the three - in which Hughes entwines his father's death with that of a neighbour's pet rabbit.

Just as things teeter into whimsy or sentimentality, Hughes punctures proceedings by eagerly showing his workings. It's a smart device, allowing Dale-Jones to have it both ways: he can explain his intentions without the hassle of actually acheiving them in practice.

The limitations become apparent in 360, in which an irritable Hughes aims to retune his joie de vivre by climbing Snowdon. Though ostensibly about friendship, it's more about being Hugh Hughes. Turned inwards, it veers into indulgence - as if Dale-Jones has fallen for his own creation. He's right to, but only when we see through his eyes to the wonderful world beyond.