★★★★

“a lot is packed into this emotionally raw production”

There are two trains of thought about the pandemic. One that it is still too raw to explore in dramatic form; the other that it is old hat, and nobody wants to hear any more about it. But remember it, we all do. James McDermott has distilled those memories into a unique two-hander that follows the breakdown of a relationship, and of society, in tandem. The personal and the panoramic are mirrored effortlessly and it is impossible to remain unaffected by McDermott’s writing.

Anne (Kacey Ainsworth) and Don (Liam Tobin) are approaching their twenty-ninth anniversary, having long reached the comfort zone of the ‘can’t-live-with-you-can’t-live-without-you’ phase. Affection and irritation go blithely hand in hand; one minute dancing uninhibitedly to the Eurythmics ‘Sweet Dreams’, spilling wine and laughter in equal measure; the next bickering with jabs that often pierce uncomfortably deep.

From the order to ‘stay at home’, we follow the pair through the next twelve months. The pandemic itself is initially a backdrop to the minutiae of a marriage, but inevitably it draws in like a rising tide cutting off any escape route. Director Scott Le Crass keeps the actors within this frame of claustrophobia. Like caged animals they pace, sit, stand. Repetitive and functionless. Don at first feels safe. His vintage shop business wasn’t going so well anyway. Anne is twitchier, forced to work from home instead of being on the NHS frontline. She is tired of being the breadwinner, tired of her hot flushes and tired of “non-essential” Don.

“a compelling black comedy”

Although we know that’s not entirely true. Ainsworth is a master performer, eking out the nuances of her layered character. Each word, gesture and expression ring true. Tobin has a similar grasp of realism. They both make the stark shifts of mood believable. We recognise this couple. We are drawn into their individuality, but it is their inter-dependence that has us in an emotional stranglehold right through to – and especially during – the final scenes.

There are many scenes that take us there. Some short, some long, some dark, some light, some wordy, some silent. Jodie Underwood’s lighting slices between them while Adam Langston’s staccato, filmic music stabs at the transitions with Hitchcockian chill. The lights gradually dim in line with the subject matter as the action unfolds, and the comedy ebbs and makes way for the darker hues.

There is an extraordinary attention to detail. Anne’s password, we learn, is ‘cagedbird’. The transition from drinking from a glass to drinking straight from the bottle. Don tearing up his invitation to be vaccinated. The bursts of the optimistic, upbeat Eurythmic music fade into the scenes on certain lyrics: ‘some of them want to abuse you…’, or ‘when depression starts to win…’. These subtleties add poignancy and potency to Ainsworth’s and Tobin’s already powerful performance.

In a little over an hour, a lot is packed into this emotionally raw production. The words crackle with meaning, but so do the silences. “Jab” is a compelling black comedy. I definitely urge you to catch it (words I probably wouldn’t have chosen during the pandemic).

LEAVES OF GLASS at the Park Theatre

★★★★

“Max Harrison’s staging is beautifully faithful and sympathetic to the writing.”

Memories contain errors. Memory is highly malleable; therefore, often unreliable. It can be altered by emotional state from the very second it becomes a memory. Or many years later. Yet most of us like to think our own recollections are infallible, even when we know we might be twisting it. That’s just survival, according to Philip Ridley who explores these themes in his 2007 play “Leaves of Glass”. The middle episode of his ‘Brothers Trilogy’, it was preceded by ‘Mercury Fur’ and followed by ‘Piranha Heights’.

“Leaves of Glass” centres around two brothers, Steven (Ned Costello) and Barry (Joseph Potter). Five years apart in age, but on the surface, they couldn’t be further apart from each other. Steven runs a successful graffiti removal business while Barry, despite being a bit of a dogsbody in the firm, is a struggling artist. Steven appears to have his head screwed on, whereas Barry’s is lost in drink and hallucinations. Their respective memories of their father, whom they lost at a young age, are on different tracks. Yet there are similarities that bond them. But like similar poles of a magnet, they repel each other. Their mother Liz (Kacey Ainsworth) tentatively holds them together, despite her affections wavering between the two as wildly as her own recollections. The only solid presence is Steven’s pregnant wife Debbie (Katie Eldred) who is aware of the fragility of the family, but her tolerance doesn’t stretch to assuring nothing gets broken.

The intensity of the play comes not just from the spoken word, but the silence that surrounds a traumatic incident from the brothers’ childhood that neither seems willing to talk about. When the silence snaps, the effect is shocking. The pieces come together but nothing fits, as the final battle of memories is like a duel to the death.

“Sam Glossop’s underscore splits the play’s segments like splinters of sound that throw us off balance”

The intensity of the play also undoubtedly comes from the performances. Costello and Potter both capture the inherent danger in Ridley’s script and in their characters. Costello in particular, like a brooding prisoner who never leaves the stage. Neither can escape their version of the truth – a truth that we can only keep guessing about. Eldred’s Debbie, the outsider, is more grounded but not quite strong enough to dodge the fallout from the brothers’ mind games. Ainsworth is a mix of concern and complicity as the mother who inflates her own ability to cope. ‘I’ve buried two parents and a husband’ she continually reminds us, ‘I think I’m capable of carrying some tea and biscuits’. The little hints of domesticity are a thin gauze over the deep cracks that run through this family.

Ridley’s signature is splashed all over the piece, although less shocking, and perhaps more thoughtful, than some of his other work. Max Harrison’s staging is beautifully faithful and sympathetic to the writing. Some scenes are short, like pieces of broken glass. Other scenes start when they are already up and running. They end unresolved. It is discomforting and reflects the unravelling of the minds of these four protagonists. The actors come into the scenes from different angles – as jagged as the eponymous leaves of glass. Alex Lewer’s lighting is just as evocative, swinging from harshness to near darkness like a horror film’s bare light bulb; while Sam Glossop’s underscore splits the play’s segments like splinters of sound that throw us off balance.

It is difficult to tell the difference between a lie and a truth misremembered. This family is built on both – a pretty unstable foundation to begin with. It is not always easy viewing to witness, but the craftmanship of the acting and the writing force us not to look away. Memory may be fragile, but “Leaves of Glass” will be difficult to forget.

JAB at the Finborough Theatre

★★★★

“a lot is packed into this emotionally raw production”

“a compelling black comedy”

JAB at the Finborough Theatre

Reviewed on 23rd February 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Steve Gregson

Previously reviewed at this venue:

JAB

JAB

LEAVES OF GLASS at the Park Theatre

★★★★

“Max Harrison’s staging is beautifully faithful and sympathetic to the writing.”

“Sam Glossop’s underscore splits the play’s segments like splinters of sound that throw us off balance”