By: Kaylie Moore
James Rowland dies at the end of the show… or does he?
Welcoming you to the theatre is James, off stage, playing a gentle, melancholic tune on the piano. It’s an unexpectedly tender beginning to the third and final instalment of his trilogy, although I hadn’t seen the first two parts, his distinctive storytelling style quickly became apparent. It takes a moment to adjust to, but it’s undeniably engaging.
Before the performance properly begins, James steps onstage and speaks directly to the audience, establishing an immediate sense of connection, intimacy and warmth. What follows feels like a magical mystery tour through the depths of his mind – a cascading waterfall of seemingly unconnected thoughts, memories, fantasies, observations and folklore.
In the midst of the show the narrative feels disjointed. The prominence of Robin Hood folklore, initially seems overbearing and oddly placed. But by the end, Rowland masterfully ties everything together – connecting the myth of Robin Hood, the Voyager Golden Record, and Carl Sagan’s ‘Pale Blue Dot’ into a unified meditation on existence, legacy, and connection.
His message is clear and powerful: we are all just tiny specks in an unfathomably vast universe, yet deeply connected to those who came before us. Like the red kite – once on the brink of extinction but now thriving thanks to a reintroduction programme – fragments of who we are, live on beyond our individual stories.
The storytelling is intricately woven with music, each anecdote landing in rhythm with carefully chosen tracks by Regina Spektor and Frightened Rabbit. The music elevates the emotion and depth of the narrative, enhancing its poignancy and emotional resonance.
A simple set – primarily a countdown clock – becomes surprisingly impactful. Watching the seconds tick away serves as a stark reminder not just of the show’s runtime, but of our own fleeting time on the pale blue dot.
Rowland’s wordplay is clever, often laced with humour and the occasional grandiloquent flourish. But it’s never pretentious. Rather, it invites reflection: on mortality, on meaning, on finding joy in the micro-miracles of everyday life. Life is uncertain, and we never quite know when our story will end – but perhaps, in noticing the beauty around us, we learn to live more fully.