THE ISLAND OF MOOR
Hope Theatre
★★½
“there is a fascinating truth at the heart of the story”
Whether deliberate or not (and kudos if deliberate) a warm odour hangs over the tight theatre space ahead of The Island of Moor.
It has a potent kick, familiar to anyone who has occupied a field under siege from the elements and thought it a holiday. It is the stench of clothes that never dry, the fug of earthy mulch, and the omnipresent stew of mildew and sweat.
Camping.
From this filthy congregation of damp rags and wilted canvas emerges Robert James Moor (James Lyon) – dirt on his face and bean juice in his stubble. He is surprised to see us, not least because we must have survived the monsters that supposedly prowl this place.
“I’m not delusional,” he reassures Jemima, one of a clutch of plastic ducks he treats as friends.
He shares with us the routine of his day – The Watch, wherein he patrols his space, and The Orders which come from “her”. On the day of our visit, “she” delivers these instructions via a low-flying helicopter.
According to Moor, there has been an apocalypse, and he has fled the remnants of society to hole up here. He is waiting for “her” to bring about some kind of restoration.
Who is she? And who is he?
Those are the questions.
In all this, Lyon, with his Scottish brogue, and his fluctuating cheeky-chappie demeanour, keeps us briefly amused and interested.
And then, 40 minutes later, we are done.
Once we have spent a short time with Moor and heard snippets from his uneventful army life, the production canters to a close, as if embarrassed by its lack of substance. Writer/director Candice Mac has nothing much to say, says it twice to fill out the minutes, then turns off the lights.
But there is one more item of business before we conclude and that is the killer twist which bears this whole structure. No spoilers – but it is perhaps necessary to point out that there is a fascinating truth at the heart of the story.
I mention this solely because this truth seems to inhibit the writer to a state of creative paralysis. To be faithful to the scant facts, she attempts few explorations of character or psyche and, in their absence, offers no flights of fancy or supposition. There is no trail of biscuit crumbs for the audience to follow that might lead us to understand who this man was and why he lived on this particular island in this particular manner.
Instead, there is an honourable if flattened sense of distance and respect.
Not a play then, or even a story, but an intriguing footnote.
Short and sweet.
THE ISLAND OF MOOR
Hope Theatre
Reviewed on 26th March 2026
by Giles Broadbent
Photography by Isadora Baccon
