So I am in York Hall in Bethnal Green: It's a warm evening and it’s sold out and there’s four hundred of us in the audience. The temperature rises a few degrees. There’s a boxing ring lit up in the centre and I’ve a ring-side seat and the Bell rings. Ding. The performance begins. I can smell the sweat. Actors who are boxers who are actors enter the stage in a barnburner of dialogue and monologue and action. The training regime is merciless.
A piston jab PUH! sweat spins from the forehead of Ajay in an arch of echo. Pearls of light swirl and spin out amongst the audience through the air like stars on water. PUH PUH! Dialogue clinical, and natural as combination punches beneath the ribs – PAH PAH PUH PAH – The world spins PAH PAH and I am not sure whether I am the circulating camera catching the slow motion boxer in descent or if I am the boxer swirling amongst the streaking lights that wrap around me like the fighters own hand wraps. This is High Definition.
I am the audience sat transfixed at a boxing match, a piece of Scots world class theatre, a story, an event. I am in Beautiful Burnout – PAH– This is what theatre should be PUH PAH PAH. An east end boxer could enjoy this, PAH PAH PAH, just as much as a poet, PUH PUH PAH, If you get the chance to see Beautiful Burnout, PAH PAH, then do.