Rough and fast is my appraisal of The Last Pro in Yeoville, but perhaps that’s what one should expect from a play about a washed up white prostitute trying to make it in new territory.
I’m going to be blunt: it ain’t graceful or glamourous or particularly re?ned, but it’s got something.
The story takes us to the eclectic neighborhood of Yeoville, a place notorious for attracting artists and a creative and liberally-minded culture. But not everyone is feeling inspired there. Billy, an aging and mildly successful writer is now trying his hand as a painter though his money-leeching, trumpet blowing ?at mate, Poiho (“That’s Poi-ho!”) won’t give him a moment’s peace. As this odd pair banter and bicker and struggle to eek out a starving existence, their single common pleasure is found in watching the masses from their second story apartment — the drug dealers, tsotsis, Hare Krishnas and prostitutes that congregate on Hope Street.
Eventually Billy and Poiho’s roving past-time ?nds focus in the form of a white prostitute, Cameilla, who has just moved into the neighborhood.
Despite her obvious wear and tear, they can see she has cornered the market — it’s clear she’s “a white pro”. After an evening of the usual drunken voyeurism, Poiho advises his dispirited landlord to hire their new neighbor to pose for him so he can ?nally complete his painting.
Written and directed by Martin Moboekae, the play opened yesterday on the main circuit at the National Arts Festival, and though it still has a way to go before it can truly transport an audience into the pitiful reality of these hapless characters, it will carry one for an interesting ride, so to speak. The play is loaded with issues: inter-racial relationships, abuse, mental illness, teenage pregnancy. And perhaps this is its downfall. We are hastily swept through so much plot-thickening detritus that we can scarcely connect with any of it.
With the exception of Cameilla, played by Onida Cowan, the actors aren’t quite able to ?esh out the full experience of their characters. Irritation, anger, regret, disappointment could all be explored with greater depth and feeling.
Though charmed by the brazen portrayal of the blunt and feisty and de?nitely worse-for-wear — though skillful — old “pro”, Cameilla, I was left with wanting more. But again, maybe that’s what one should expect from such an encounter with a prostitute from Yeoville.
For more from the National Arts Festival, see our special report.
