“Jessica Lazar’s luminous direction allows plenty of room for the performers to transform their bodies, and our imaginations”
Rafaella Marcus’ first full length play, directed by Jessica Lazar, for Atticist, and Ellie Keel productions, is a dazzling debut. The whole thing is performed in seventy minutes, with just two performers, outdoors in a tent at the Summerhall in Edinburgh. All of which just adds satisfying layers to this complex and thought provoking theatrical experience. At its simplest, SAP is a modern retelling of the Apollo and Daphne myth. SAP manages to retain the love and predatory desire of the original, as well as the tragedy. Performers Jessica Clark (as Daphne) and Rebecca Banatvala (playing all the other roles) are riveting as the pursuing, and the pursued.
Greek myths told in a new way is a perennially popular choice for playwrights. What makes Rafaella Marcus’ retelling so intriguing is that SAP confronts human sexuality in non binary forms, and in a very contemporary way. The language of SAP is rich and evocative. Metaphors are used lavishly, which suits the method of presentation — that of an extended monologue told by Daphne, and short scenes with two characters that round out the story when needed. Plants are described as images of transformation, but these are not gentle or passive examples of vegetable life. In the character of Daphne, Marcus explores the idea of metamorphosis as a metaphor for bisexuality as well. In the first of several unexpected plot twists, we discover that Daphne’s lovers are brother and sister. She has a casual fling with the brother, then meets the sister, and the two fall passionately in love. But Daphne’s lover is unsympathetic to the idea of bisexuality, and Daphne gets trapped in the first of several lies as she has to hide who she really is. When she meets her male lover again at a family wedding where both siblings are present, the meeting is catastrophic.
There is so much for a couple of talented performers to work with in SAP. Jessica Clark and Rebecca Banatvala are more than up to the challenge. Banatvala takes on the supporting roles, including those of the rival brother and sister. But the play begins and ends with Clark’s non binary character Daphne. Jessica Lazar’s luminous direction allows plenty of room for the performers to transform their bodies, and our imaginations, using the vivid language of Marcus’ script. Banatvala’s ability to shift character with the twitch of an eyebrow or shrug of a shoulder, is particularly breathtaking to watch. But the energy that drives the whole comes from Clark as Daphne. The production is complete and satisfying, and that includes costumes and set (Rūta Irbīte) and the work of sound designer and composer Tom Foskett-Barnes. Catch this production while you can in Edinburgh—and hope that it gets produced elsewhere, and soon.
Reviewed 4th August 2022
by Dominica Plummer
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“Hood writes like the lovechild of Sarah Kane and Irvine Welsh”
There’s a kind of irony in the fact that the first word spoken in “Monster” is ‘Boo!’. The word comes with all the associations of innocence and playfulness. We love the word; to speak it and to hear it. To surprise and scare, and to be scared in return. It is healthy. Part of growing up. It doesn’t make monsters of us.
It doesn’t take long for Abigail Hood’s explosive play to strip away the safety net and plunge us into much darker territory. The razor-sharp dialogue slices through the thickest of skins to expose a very different fear, and all of its synonyms. Monsters are no longer imaginary creatures. They live among us as schoolgirls, mothers, teachers, lovers. Hood has unleashed a frightening yet rather beautiful creature in the guise of a brilliantly crafted and performed play.
We are in a scrap of wasteland in Glasgow, 2006. Kayleigh and Zoe are bunking off school, drinking, smoking, flirting, and dreaming of running away to the Isle of Muck (it sounds metaphorical, but is actually a real island in the Inner Hebrides). In psychobabble terms, Kayleigh has ‘no filter’. Her teacher, Rebecca, tries to understand and tries to help, despite a husband who repeatedly warns her to step back. We soon see why Kayleigh never wants to go home. Home is where the hurt is. A mother who pimps her and punishes her in equal measure. The level of poisonous cruelty is quite shocking. The first of many questions – are people born evil or is it a result of their upbringing? – is raised. Gillian Kirkpatrick, as the Bible-quoting, whisky-toting mother pours incendiary fuel onto the debate with her grippingly caustic portrayal.
Hood writes like the lovechild of Sarah Kane and Irvine Welsh. The shock value is often underpinned by humour. The natural feel is matched by Hood’s own performance as Kayleigh. A brave (and possibly ill-advised decision) Hood pulls it off by probably being halfway under the character’s skin anyway having created her. Equally magnificent are the rest of the ensemble as they stagger along the line between the torturing and the tortured. Caitlin Fielding, as Zoe, encapsulates the dichotomy – we are never completely sure if her love for Kayleigh is real or merely a survival technique. Do you try to placate the monster or run away? Which could prove more dangerous?
Emma Keele is mesmerising as Rebecca, the liberal minded school mistress who reaches out a helping hand. It is no spoiler to reveal that she suffers the harshest bite. There is a heart-rending, graveside scene later in the play where Rebecca meets up with her now estranged husband, Steve (Kevin Wathen). Keele’s subtle facial expressions evoke years of grief and anger that words can only hint at, while Wathen palpably buckles under the weight of the cruelty of lives crushed by cruelty.
Violence crackles under the surface of this piece – with only one way to go. Whether you can see it or not, the horrific climax still comes as a shock. And it’s only the interval. The second act moves forward to 2019 with a dramatic shift in tone; acting as a kind of post-mortem on the past. Reconciliations come without redemption, and new starts never escape the tug of memories and those who cannot let them go. Director Kevin Tomlinson crosses over into the role of John, the new man in Kayleigh’s reconstituted life. His unconditional acceptance of the chaos into which he has unwittingly walked is the only slight dip in the narrative. But perhaps it is because there are no answers. Hood’s play provides plenty of thought, however.
What does it mean to be a ‘monster’? Can it be prevented? Is the worst possible version of a person the only one there is? What part should society play? What are the causes of extreme violence? How does one cope with loss? How does one atone? Indeed, in extreme cases, can one?
“Is this justice?” asks Rebecca towards the end of the piece. To put the question fully in context might reveal too much, though I think I can get away with: “Is it right that a murderer can go on to create another life?”. Guilt, bereavement, abuse, violence, blame, absolution all vie with each other in this remarkable play. Far from comfortable, it is – like the characters portrayed – complex and complicated, provocative, and punchy. It hits below the belt – but it is vital we feel the full force, and the throb as the fist is pulled back. Not to be missed.
