Half A Person“A sad fact widely known / the most impassionate song / to a lonely soul / is so easily outgrown”, intones Morrissey on ‘Rubber Ring’. Recorded by The Smiths two years before their acrimonious split, these lyrics encapsulate the conflict at the heart of Half A Person: My Life As Told By The Smiths. Morrissey’s doleful premonition, in which he warns the “lonely souls” listening that they will soon abandon him along with their “outgrown” adolescence, forms the basis of Alex Broun’s monologue. 

Half A Person tells the story of William (John Presley), a twenty-something Londoner with an all-consuming obsession for the music of The Smiths. He spends his days rummaging through old vinyl in mothballed record shops, chugging wine with his best friend and mentor, Rick, and generally being unlucky in love. However, when William meets Salome (“skin like ivory and lips like blood from a freshly slit wrist”) he discovers that he may finally have a chance at true happiness. But perhaps happiness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be? The closer William gets to Salome, the further he drifts from the creature comforts of Rick’s old record player and the songs of his musical idols. His self-created, wallflower identity is challenged and, what’s more, Rick secretly harbours romantic feelings of his own for his close friend.

Alex Broun’s writing contains all the hallmarks of a great Smiths song. It is lyrical, sardonic, melancholy, self-aware and packed with poetical turns of phrase. Broun also tackles some tricky questions about the nature of fandom. William’s obsessive attachment to The Smiths is a form of self-therapy, and we’re invited to question the extent to which this type of idolisation is healthy or desirable. When William realises he is falling in love with Salome, he confides in Rick, failing to realise that his best friend and mentor is struggling to cope under the weight of his own unrequited feelings.

John Presley’s performance grows in confidence as the evening progresses. With his black skinny jeans, Mozza quiff and white, band t-shirt (“The Smiths Is Dead”), he is every part the delicate wallflower. Along with the unenviable task of performing on another company’s set (Half A Person is part of the Kings Head’s ‘Off-Peak’ season), he also has to contend with the verbosity and wordplay within Broun’s script. Nevertheless, Presley goes on to deliver William’s stream-of-consciousness with verve and wit.

Presley’s singing is reminiscent of Morrissey’s baritone, yet it goes beyond a mere karaoke rendition. Presley performs the songs with tenderness and restraint; his voice is a fragile croon that manages to be soulful and moving, despite the obvious challenges of a confined space. In fact, the Kings Head’s intimate staging makes these performances feel more like incantations then songs. There is something strangely exposing about the singing voice in such close quarters, adding to the sense that we have stumbled into William’s private world.

Half A Person: My Life As Told By The Smiths is a witty and warm-hearted journey through the upheavals of adolescence. It is also a tale about the pressures of growing up and getting old. William’s monologue charts a twenty-something’s rite of passage through love, sex and death – set to the soundtrack of one of the most beloved British bands in the history of popular music. Perhaps it’s all best summed up in another cracking Mozza lyric: “When you’re dancing / and laughing / and finally living / hear my  voice in your head / and think of me kindly”…

Half A Person is playing at the King’s Head Theatre until 16 February. For more information and tickets, see the King’s Head Theatre website.