Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * * *

Cast: James Cartwright.

Poetry is not confined to the short poetic burst associated with lovelorn teenagers finding the prospect of double Maths with a wreck of a teacher a dull and boring distraction to writing early sonnets to the person who catches their eye, neither is it the sole preserve of the clever academic reaching the very pinnacle of their career as they accept another title, another seal of recognition. Poetry is in the everyday, it reigns supreme in the smallest of conversations or in the biggest of events and it something that the playwright Jim Cartwright proves with devastating effect in his play Raz.

Poetry exists everywhere, in the building of an empire, in the motion of a train journey and especially in the art of getting ready for a Saturday night on the town, the night to which the horrors of the working week are forgotten, dismissed and relegated as love, hedonism, clubbing and the odd drink become the norm.

Poetry is what drives the night, it also with absolute splendour frames the narrative for Raz, the unique spotlight on the culture of owning at least one part of your life and being responsible for the outcome of your night out. It is the spotlight that James Cartwright performs with absolute finesse, dignity and truth throughout the 50 minutes on stage. Pulling in every nuance of behaviour from a range of characters, the friends, the women they try to pull, the doormen and the taxi drivers who all make the Saturday night what it is, James Cartwright pushes the boundary of the accepted monologue and creates poetic heaven.

For 50 minutes the audience inside the Unity Theatre was held spellbound by the sheer pace and exhaustive but beautiful narrative, the pleasure of feeling alive to witness such a great performance enhanced by the recognition of the situation that many have found themselves in as permanently drowning your sorrows leads inevitably to the finding of your soul; even if it does mean looking down upon the town you live in from a great and disturbing height.

Poetry is everywhere, you might not see it but certainly you should be able to feel it as it encloses your Saturday night dream, as the nine minute tan fades and the last whisper of a former love breathes sweet goodbyes in your face; in the end, even sober, we are all on the Raz.

Ian D. Hall