★★★★★

“a show that has it all: a resonating war story, impeccable acting, beautiful language and incredible design element”

Deaf Republic, an adaptation of Ilya Kaminsky’s poems, is a piece of theatre that requires time to process and digest. Dead Centre, a theatre company famous for their groundbreaking theatre making, along with Sign Language poet Zoë McWhinney, create a world that is accessible and painfully relevant to the horrors that take place in the name of humanity every day, through puppetry, video performance and silence that speaks volumes. It’s almost like a respectful slap in the face.

In a fictional town named Vasenka, war is raging and after the murder of a deaf boy, who couldn’t hear a soldier’s commands, the whole town suddenly goes deaf. Everyone has to adjust to a new, silent reality, while enduring the consequences of living in an occupied territory. Alfonso and Sonya, a couple who run a puppet theatre, are determined to keep their puppet shows going. When tragedy hits their family, it’s up to the townspeople to carry on the fire of the resistance.

During a very Brechtian introduction, we’re told how British Sign Language (BSL), subtitles (or rather, surtitles) and spoken language will get merged in the performance and that what we’re about to see is a fictional story. The actors first create some distance between the characters and the audience, in order to help us assess what we see from a more objective point of view. But that comes crashing down when one of the characters mentions that in sign language ‘you can’t be a passive observer, you have to take a position’, so the audience is addressed as the people of Vasenka, we become part of it. An intriguing contrast, or debate, that keeps unfolding till it’s clear that being just an observer is not an option that does the citizens of the Deaf Republic justice. Which raises the question: should we lean more on our emotional responses or on our reason and logic?

Co-writers and co-directors, Bush Moukarzel and Ben Kidd, also Dead Centre’s artistic directors, urge you to come to your own conclusion and they use deafness as a means to instigate a rebellion against a military oppression. Dead Centre is familiar with challenging the barriers of theatre performance, like in another show of theirs called Chekhov’s First Play, where parallel narrations are provided to the audience through the use of headphones. In Deaf Republic, it’s not just BSL and spoken language that come together, but also a magical community, full of laughter and hope, and an overwhelming state of brutality, full of despair. The balance and delicacy with which this epic story navigates both is outstanding and leaves you with a feeling of peaceful exasperation that sits deep in your gut.

The cast are an ensemble of hearing and deaf actors and it truly feels like a celebration of cultures, where everyone connects with and is fully attuned to one another. An array of skills, from aerial performance to poetry and exceptional puppetry, that could become distracting, simply elevates some wonderfully raw performances, like Romel Belcher’s (Alfonso) and Caoimhe Coburn Gray’s (Sonya). Dylan Tonge Jones’s (Soldier) gives a chilling performance as the heart of the oppression and you take pleasure in despising him.

The most impressive element of this play is its use of space. Set designer Jeremy Herbert has created a multilayered stage that includes a stage within a stage, hidden parts that we can only see through live video recording and thin walls that allow you to see different perspectives of the same scene. It’s a journey unlike anything you’ve seen before. Lighting design (Azusa Ono) along with sound design (Kevin Gleeson) complement the tone perfectly, from the cheerful beginning to the twisted and frenzied end.

Deaf Republic is a show that has it all: a resonating war story, impeccable acting, beautiful language and incredible design elements. Moreover, in this signed revolution, you get to experience a collectiveness that doesn’t let any individual behind.

MANHUNT

Royal Court

★★★★

“Samuel Edward-Cook’s performance is a tour-de-force”

Behind a metallic, gauze curtain a figure paces back and forth. Shaven headed. His shadow follows him across the vertical wall of the translucent screen – a projected alter ego pursuing its prey, fuelling the claustrophobic motions of the man’s repetitive circuit. His behaviour is erratic yet painfully routine. It’s like watching a captive animal through the bars of a zoo’s enclosure.

A flash of brilliant white light releases him to tell his story. It’s a story that dominated the front pages and caught the public imagination during the summer of 2010. That of the major police operation across Tyne and Wear – the manhunt for fugitive Raoul Moat. The ex-prisoner was on the run for nearly a week after a killing spree, ending with a six-hour standoff with armed police and Moat’s suicide. It was a story that landed in the lap of journalist Andrew Hankinson whose subsequent book inspired Robert Icke’s brutal and challenging one-act play. The overriding word on our lips is ‘why?’

“Manhunt” doesn’t offer any answers, but it poses the question from every angle, looking at the horrific events through the eyes of the victims and the perpetrator, often begging us to ask which is which. Icke’s writing and direction steer the narrative in a cyclical fashion, swinging between flashbacks and the present. It is often Kafkaesque in its approach as Moat fights a system he believes has been against him since birth. Whether we are supposed to be or not, we are drawn into Moat’s own tragedy as much as his victim’s which is unsettling to say the least. Samuel Edward-Cook’s performance is a tour-de-force that reinforces this with a warped honesty as he tries to justify himself. All the while he is surrounded by figures from his past and present: the judges and juries that accuse him of hitting his daughter; the ex-partner; his childhood self, locked in his room by his unstable mother; the father he never knew; social workers; friends, accomplices and detractors, and most importantly his victims. A poignant extended blackout heightens a first-hand account from a police officer he randomly shot and blinded in a cold-hearted act of revenge.

The supporting cast who play the multiple roles are as equally compelling as Edward-Cook, if not as frightening. This could well have been a one man show along the lines of the recent ‘Kenrex’, which follows similar themes, but the ensemble here fleshes out the account and adds a distinct and welcome light and shade. There is occasional confusion during moments when we are unsure that what we are witnessing is in Moat’s mind or in reality. Hallucinations overlap real life too often, yet it all adds to the unease, and we are constantly left unsure who to believe. So rather than collude with anybody we end up trusting no one. An unsatisfactory and dangerous position to be in, but one that maybe Icke is trying to spotlight.

Danger is an undercurrent that bursts to the surface constantly. Edward-Cook’s manic, wild-eyed stare cements this. He is a drowning man watching his life flash before him. Azusa Ono’s lighting evokes the episodes with haunting atmosphere, from the coldness of a prison cell to the campfire warmth of his last hiding place in the Northumbrian countryside. Here Moat talks to fellow Geordie, Paul Gascoigne before confronting his estranged father and being consoled by a doting grandmother. It is all unreal, but it helps him unearth the truth of his nature. There is only one conclusion. Justice takes a back seat while cause and effect – action and reaction – take centre stage.

At the time, Moat was famously labelled a ‘callous murderer… end of story’. Which is arguably the case. This play appears to challenge that assumption, but Icke’s writing is as ambiguous as the history as he tries to dig deeper. But there is no avoiding the fact that Moat was a big, strong man who used violence against those who were weaker than him. He lied, he lacked control, and he tried to justify his actions that ruined and ended lives. It is not a good story. However, Icke turns it into a breath-taking piece of theatre. We might wonder why he chose to do so, but we are enthralled and disturbed by the experience, and the performances will stick in our minds for quite a while. A gripping production. End of story.

DEAF REPUBLIC

Royal Court

★★★★★

“a show that has it all: a resonating war story, impeccable acting, beautiful language and incredible design element”

DEAF REPUBLIC

Royal Court

Reviewed on 4th September 2025

by Stephanie Christodoulidou

Photography by Johan Persson

Recently reviewed at the venue:

DEAF REPUBLIC

DEAF REPUBLIC

DEAF REPUBLIC

MANHUNT

Royal Court

★★★★

“Samuel Edward-Cook’s performance is a tour-de-force”

MANHUNT

Royal Court

Reviewed on 8th April 2025

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Manuel Harlan

Previously reviewed at this venue:

MANHUNT

MANHUNT

MANHUNT

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