“Dan Gillespie Sells’ minimalist score is the pulse of the piece. The songs are an essential narrative. A mood board and a close-up lens.”
Let us begin with what “Brokeback Mountain” is not. It is not a musical, most certainly not a queer musical. Nor is it a flag bearer for the LGBTQ community. Ashley Robinson’s ninety-minute play with music, based on Annie Proulx’s deeply moving novella, defies categorisation. It simply rests on its own uniqueness, to be gently devoured by the watcher. Comparisons to Ang Lee’s 2005 feature film should be avoided. Jonathan Butterell’s production has a voice of its own, sometimes barely more than a whisper, but one whose effects will rise above a lot of the clamour in the West End.
The story is one of forbidden love, framed within the memory of an ageing Ennis Del Mar (Paul Hickey). We are invited to remember a time and a place where being gay could very well be fatal. We are in a scrubland of back-country homophobia that shapes the destinies of two home-grown country kids; ill-informed and confused but wading, ultimately drowning, in bittersweet longing. Oscar nominee Lucas Hedges plays Ennis Del Mar, fearful and quiet, and ‘not much of a talker’, as pointed out by Mike Faist’s brisk and breezy Jack Twist.
They meet in 1963, both hired hands on Joe Aguirre’s (the charismatic Martin Marquez) sheep ranch. Sharing roll-ups and campfire banter, their laddish camaraderie evolves into a drunken fumbling which, after insisting is a one-time affair, becomes a lifelong passion – detached from, yet destroying their respective marriages, families and their own sense of themselves. Their presence is quite magnetic, but the onstage chemistry is not always strong enough to express the deep sense of longing.
The full force of the emotional landscape is brought to us through the music. Dan Gillespie Sells’ minimalist score is the pulse of the piece. The songs are an essential narrative. A mood board and a close-up lens. Greg Miller’s yearning harmonica with BJ Cole’s pedal steel guitar fill the silences with an emotional depth the dialogue can only dream of. Sean Green’s restrained leitmotifs on the piano perfectly underpin the plaintive vocals. Eddi Reader’s voice has a gorgeous purity, scratched by a smoky rawness that echoes the spirit of the protagonists and guides us to their hearts.
The intimacy of the play is captured, too, in Tom Pye’s thoughtful design, drifting from canvas and campfires to the chipped furnishings of Ennis’ home. There the story reaches beyond the central couple shining a light on the sad neglect of Ennis’ wife, Alma. In a stunning stage debut, Emily Fairn subtly exposes the danger that her husband has put himself in. And consequently, the danger for herself too. At its core, “Brokeback Mountain” is a tragedy of two people having to keep their love hidden from the world. But the repercussions go further, touching each and all, which Fairn brilliantly emphasises. Similarly, backing singer Sophie Reid, in a heart-wrenching cameo as Jack Twist’s wife, Lureen, brings home the aching tragedy.
“If you can’t fix it, you gotta stand it” intones Jack Twist, more than once. Fortunately, since the time this is set in, society has ceased to stand it and started to try fixing it. Unfortunately, however, the play’s desolate ending is not something that is confined to history. “Brokeback Mountain” is an important piece of theatre. Compelling and tender. Powerful but fragile. Gentle yet hard-hitting. And quite unmissable.
“The brilliant writing and Hannah Calascione’s contained intensity in the direction are powerfully compelling”
Lisa was best at playing ‘All the Little Lights’. She and Joanne would look out at the lit-up windows of distant homes, and imagine the ‘ordinary’ lives of other people. Once close friends but suddenly torn apart, Joanne, with newcomer Amy in tow, has organised a birthday celebration for Lisa, by the railway track. A triangle of complicity tangled up in the net of child sexual exploitation, Lisa is determined to cling on to her fresh start, while Joanne must survive the only way she can – Amy becomes the victim. Jane Upton’s play opens our eyes to the innocence and vulnerability of children who are all around us; their need for security, protection and affirmation is both ignored by those who should give it and taken advantage of by those who shouldn’t. It is distressing to witness their acceptance of dreams and prospects which have been stolen and happiness reduced to a bag of chips in exchange for sex, but Upton balances this with the humour and fun of teenage friendship and youthful spirits.
The three actors embody different aspects and consequences of abuse, pulling us into their complex dynamics of familiarity, unease and fear, with strong, absorbing performances. Erin Mullen portrays the painful wariness of Lisa, frightened to show the closeness she feels towards Joanne for fear of falling into the trap again and prepared to adapt to her ‘nice’ new life if it gives her a second chance. Joanne, played by Lucy Mabbitt, is the manipulative bully who swings from smiles to anger, and brushes aside the lies she tells as she is found out. Looking milder than one might imagine, she nevertheless illustrates the brainwashing process of grooming and occasionally allows herself to slip into remembering comforting moments of the past. Emily Fairn captures a naïveté in Amy which nurtures our affection and care. She is instrumental to the comic element but also to the tragic.
More than just pointing out those who slip through the cracks of society, ‘All the Little Lights’ underlines the harm done in childhood which, in turn, produces perpetrators. Complete with original music (Eric Fabrizi) and visuals (Alex Hobbs) which accompany their fantasies and thrills, the naturalistic tone of the script has a screen drama feel to it and makes it immediately connectable. The brilliant writing and Hannah Calascione’s contained intensity in the direction are powerfully compelling. We want to save Amy, we will Lisa not to go back and we feel impotent when Joanne inflicts the same suffering as she has received. Hopefully, there will be growing awareness, as this production intends, but it means digging at the roots of an enormous and unfortunate cycle – hurt people hurt people.
Reviewed by Joanna Hetherington
Photography by Dave Buttle
All the Little Lights
Tristan Bates Theatre
until 17th August as part of Camden Fringe 2019
