This new play, written by Barney Norris and based on David Foenkinos’ novel, is about trauma and how we process it. As the sole character, whose name is Martin, is about to become a father, his own childhood troubles come to the fore. The starting point is interesting, our guy came close to becoming Harry Potter in the film franchise. But bigger problems arise when his father dies and a new life with his mother and stepfamily leads to a mental breakdown.
You might be relieved that the theme isn’t actually celebrity. But the idea of missing out on such a life-changing event is a topic that might have provided more focus. Norris and director Michael Longhurst do well to take us back and forth in time, showing how Harry Potter comes to haunt Martin. The action is clear, but the question as to how much failure is really the problem is too open. It’s a disappointment that disappointment itself isn’t explored more.
Despite observing him for a long time, Martin is sketchy character who it is hard to warm to, a fact that makes the performance here even more impressive. The show marks the stage debut of Asa Butterfield (and is, probably, what it will be remembered for). A one-man show is a smart choice and Butterfield acquits himself well. It’s a shame the sound design (Richard Hammarton) is so ferocious. And that, despite his loquaciousness, Martin doesn’t have much of a take on what he has experienced.
Butterfield’s effort wins respect. But Longhurst and designer Fly Davis bring a sense of working too hard. There’s a lot of unnecessary pacing around, and tricks to the set that make no sense. The art installation vibe looks good. But what’s the point of it? Are we getting a glimpse instead Martin’s mind? There’s a wooden box he hides in, transformed in the final scene, a hospital bed he climbs up to and a potato taped to the wall. None of this is bad, as such, but the degree of Martin’s damage remains a bit of a mystery. And given the show’s sentimental streak, I don’t think that is the intention.
Another idea that doesn’t quite work is to inject lighter touches into such a serious subject. Again, Butterfield does well here, but the Potter-based jokes aren’t great. Meanwhile, Martin’s solipsism makes other characters mentioned – his partner and parents – just… flat. We really need another view on what went on. Second Best leaves us with pop psychology, a lot of misery, brief and banal reflections on fame and big dollops of soppiness. Thankfully, there is a first-class performance to enjoy.
Until 1 March 2025