On a muggy Monday night, we descended into the bowels of the former paint factory. Steep rakes on either side of the stage, coupled with the stage floor being covered in a rough textured sand paper, evoked a gladiatorial event. People fanned themselves with programmes, murmuring about the warmth. And then the play began. From the first scene, where a pregnant woman remains still and strained, against a busy motif of a London train, Possession had the audience in the palm of its hand.
Possession is a mutli-generational collection of moments, which come together to tell the story of a life, and a country. It is at once personal and political, both a call to arms, and a quiet tragedy.
We follow Hope (Diany Samba-Bandza), who is both protagonist and narrator. Hope is born at Victoria station to Kasambayi (Sarah Amankwah) newly arrived from the Democratic Republic of Congo. Hope’s path later crosses with Alice Young (Dorothea Myer-Bennett), a foreign correspondent who is struggling to juggle her work and being a new mother. Into this contemporary world is weaved the story of Alice Seeley-Harris (also played by Myer-Bennett), a Victorian missionary’s wife in King Leopold’s Congo. Across London and the DRC this story unfurls itself, not relying on linear narrative, but following theme and character, to build a complex and rich portrait of these women.
Sasha Hails’ script is brave and confident. It sweeps across generations and characters, knitting together a past and a present, with hopes for the future. There are moments where it could feel weighed down with exposition, there is a lot of discussion about the cobalt mines in modern day DRC and the atrocities that are associated with them. But it doesn’t. The script is informative and impactful, without slipping into preachiness.
The spirit and passion of the play is let loose through Oscar Pearce’s direction and Sarah Beaton’s design. Every inch of the space is used and there is an incredible sense of movement while also allowing for moments of pause and reflection. Photographs are projected onto flowing jagged sheets which hang at the back of the stage. These are a combination of the photographs that the real Alice Seeley-Harris took, and present-day photos of the characters. The whole effect enhances the tangle of time which the play explores.
It is a tight, strong ensemble of five. Nedum Okonyia shows an impressive range, traversing ages, eras and nationalities with equal energy and poise. Milo Twomey shines as a conflicted Victorian missionary as well as bringing depth to Alice’s journalist lover who is essentially a sounding board for her inner conflict.
However, it is the three women who really steal the show. Samba-Bandza is warm and bubbly, which sets the tone for the whole piece. Myer-Bennett straddles the two generations, bringing to life the age-old question of a mother’s place and allows the audience the chance to empathise, if not necessarily sympathise with her characters. But the real star is Sarah Amankwah. We watch as Kasambayi, a quiet, proud and incredibly private woman, is empowered and emboldened to tell her story, and to grow beyond the horrors of her past. Amankwah brings a stillness to the frenetic movement of the play, and an undertone of quiet wisdom and grief.
Possession is a tapestry of memories, an informative and fascinating story, and a beautiful character study.
“The play feels old-fashioned, both in style and in theme”
The concept is simple, if bleak. Claire (Kathy Kiera Clarke) must feed her alcoholic sister Chrissy (Mairead McKinley) four cans of beer over the course of the morning, in order to stabilise her enough to get to a rehabilitation clinic. As the story develops, we also meet the ghost, or vision, of Chrissy’s teenage daughter, Heather (Carla Langley). These three women discuss, debate and disagree over their lives, their truths, and the future.
The idea is strong, and the performances are solid. McKinley is particularly powerful as the woman on the edge, ranting and raving from her sofa chair, and breaking down completely. We’re all familiar with Clarke’s comic chops, from her beloved role as Aunt Sarah in Derry Girls, but she proves more than able to tackle this darker material, navigating the complexity of Claire’s repression and perfectionism well.
The problem is with O’Hare’s script. There is no build, and little is held back. We learn within the first minute intimate details of how Chrissy’s alcoholism has been exacerbated by the death of her daughter. There is little more to learn. Claire and Heather both have long monologues, explaining their own secrets, but in Heather’s case it feels tangential. The monologues take us out of the claustrophobic room, where Claire is trapped with her drunk and volatile sister, and into an ether land, where the audience exists and is directly addressed. It’s a shame to reveal facts this way, as it loses that complex resentful intimacy between the sisters, which is by far the most interesting part of the play.
The designer, Niall McKeever, has lent into that claustrophobia, and the set is Chrissy’s chaotic mess of a sitting room. The stage itself, a glowing letterbox set far back into in the wall, makes the room feel as cramped as the situation these women are in.
The lighting, designed by Robbie Butler, begins mostly naturalistic, coming from lamps in the room. However, it shifts when Heather is on stage, nodding to the supernatural. As Chrissy’s situation brightens, the lighting design becomes more symbolic, something which the ending leans into.
The play feels old-fashioned, both in style and in theme. Much of what’s discussed feels familiar, especially a disconnected diatribe about kindness on the internet. Ghostly Heather’s monologue is preachy – constantly talking about what could have been and what might be. Having her look back from beyond the grave clangs against the gritty realism of Chrissy’s situation. The musical motif of Coldplay’s Fix You not only adds to the generally dated feel, but also gives Chrissy’s very real struggle a saccharine edge.
There is however, a completely fantastic moment where Heather says that being dead is much like being alive, except for a low hum in your left ear. This is pure genius, and I wish there had been more of this fresh weirdness in the play, which could have freed it from familiarity.
The characters are dealt with empathetically, and there are shining moments within this piece, but overall, it is held back by a lack of subtlety and tonal variety.
