Ben Moor's Each of Us“Ben Moor has been producing extraordinary works of theatre since 1993”. Thus we are introduced in the festival programme. It’s a bold statement at best. When weighing up a body of work for press release, choice of words is a tricky game. “Thought-provoking” is a safer bet; “challenging”, “evocative” – even “innovative”. “Extraordinary” sets the bar rather high, with little room for objective manoeuvre.

I have no yardstick against which to measure this claim for the previous 19 years, as this is the first experience I’ve had of Moor’s work – but if it is indeed as they say it is, then Each Of Us fails to live up to its predecessors. Billed as “a comedy about human connection”, the funniest thing about it was the central irony that it failed to make any connection with its audience. Perhaps this was the point, and I am merely being foolish. If so I apologise.

Decked out in dapper waistcoat with hair neatly cropped, Moor is our poker straight narrator, in mannerisms half Jimmy Carr, half school teacher. His script is clever and verbose – but the delivery never settles into something either comfortably off the cuff or boldly performative. It’s a man and a microphone, shooting halfway between standup and theatrical narrative, and missing at both. Not committing to either in full, it seems to miss its mark.

Moor’s script, obviously elaborately and intricately worked together, hinders more than it helps, too riddled with a laboured wit that is delivered all too self-consciously. It deals in turn with stories from family, love and friendship, seeking to find a meaning in the inevitable moments of isolation, distance and dissonance that ring through our relationships with those we hold most dear. It makes some nice analogies, but I don’t feel it adds up to anything. There is an extended story about his love affair with ‘Radium’, the chemical element made flesh in female form, characterised in her domestic detail by the lack, rather than the presence, of all the things that should be there. The analogy is clear and it’s appealing, certainly, but it became contrived and went on too long. And, when there is the risk of deviating from the script – as happened once, a false start on a sentence – the panic to get back on track is clear. The sentence was started again, rectified and the flow was lost. Here is something that cannot be tampered with, that cannot be loosened for a moment: the importance of the immaculate script made it impenetrable; this was not something to relate to, but to have spoken at you. It’s wordy and witty, but it lacks heart.

Moor was accompanied at times by music from members of Suns of Tundra, but this addition only seemed to highlight the essential lack of connection or communication – their presence seemed incidental, not an intrinsic part of the show, but an accessory. I am not sure why this became theatre and not a piece of prose. Clever, intellectually whimsical, even thought-provoking, perhaps. But extraordinary? No.

Ben Moor’s Each of Us played at Latitude Festival. For more shows and future Latitude shows, see the Latitude Festival website.