Tag Archives: Kevin Tomlinson

Spiral

Spiral

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Jermyn Street Theatre

SPIRAL at Jermyn Street Theatre

β˜…β˜…

Spiral

“There were so many opportunities to explore interesting nuances that were missed”

 

This play doesn’t know what it wants to be. A study of vulnerability and coercive control? A tense thriller where we are left doubting the intentions of a seemingly kindly English teacher? An exploration of grief, loss and hope? By stretching itself too thin, Spiral achieves none of these and results in a confusing and uncomfortable show. Only the energy of writer Abigail Hood, who also stars in the central role of Leah, and a sensitive performance from Jasper Jacob as the grieving Tom save Spiral from total destruction.

Spiral opens with a meeting between a young woman dressed in school uniform, and an older man in an apparently transactional relationship. We then discover that despite the seedy undertones, Tom has hired Leah as a coping mechanism to deal with the stress wrought by the mysterious disappearance of his daughter several months prior. The reason for the schoolgirl get up? Leah is a doppelgΓ€nger for his missing daughter. Tom and Leah strike up an unlikely friendship, which challenges Tom’s relationship with his wife Gill (Rebecca Crankshaw) and tarnishes his reputation in his community which is – quite understandably – suspicious of his intentions.

The staging is simple. Newspaper cuttings paste the floor and five small blocks are the only substantial items on set. Highlighted phrases in the cuttings appear to reference the case of Tom’s missing daughter, which is an interesting choice when the disappearance is treated as an accessory to the main plot, and the circumstances not explored in depth. The stage felt underutilised, the vast majority of scenes played out as if on a proscenium arch and not in a compact black box space.

The direction (Kevin Tomlinson, who also appears as Mark) is uneven. Actors are often static, with limited use of the space or different levels. A moment with stylised and sexualised play between Leah and Mark therefore jars with the rest of production, and I wish there was more done to make other scenes more visually interesting. Where props are used, sometimes they clutter the stage, resulting in clumsy clean ups between scenes. Portrayals of violence are brief and unsubtle which reduces the tension despite Tomlinson depicting truly horrible abuse.

There were so many opportunities to explore interesting nuances that were missed. While Tom finds Leah, Gill finds alcohol and religion. How much comfort can these really give? How problematic are they for her? We never get to find out. How much does she really suspect Tom for involvement in her daughter’s disappearance? Is she to blame for not trusting him? All unexplored.

Another frustration: the sexual politics are outdated. Leah only escorts at the behest of her scrounging pimp and boyfriend, showing little to no agency, and requires β€˜saving’ by Tom, to whom she is eternally grateful. Leah is portrayed as uncomplicatedly pure; the abuse she has suffered through her life has not tarnished her ultimately sunny outlook. As the β€˜ideal’ victim, I found her hard to believe, and a little uninteresting as a result.

I would love to watch Hood in another production, as she has a warmth and vibrancy that lights up the stage. Jacob and Crankshaw are also fine actors, able to communicate a devastating range of emotions, even when not the focal point of scenes. It is just a shame that Spiral does not have the subtlety or ambiguity to allow its actors to find real emotional depths.

 

SPIRAL at Jermyn Street Theatre

Reviewed on 7th August 2023

by Rosie Thomas

Photography by Mark Dawson


 

 

Previously reviewed at this venue:

 

Farm Hall | β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜… | March 2023
Love All | β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜… | September 2022
Cancelling Socrates | β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜… | June 2022
Orlando | β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜… | May 2022
Footfalls and Rockaby | β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜… | November 2021
The Tempest | β˜…β˜…β˜… | November 2021
This Beautiful Future | β˜…β˜…β˜… | August 2021

Spiral

Spiral

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Monster

Monster

β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜…

Park Theatre

MONSTERΒ  Β at the Park Theatre

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Monster

 

“Hood writes like the lovechild of Sarah Kane and Irvine Welsh”

 

There’s a kind of irony in the fact that the first word spoken in β€œMonster” is β€˜Boo!’. The word comes with all the associations of innocence and playfulness. We love the word; to speak it and to hear it. To surprise and scare, and to be scared in return. It is healthy. Part of growing up. It doesn’t make monsters of us.

It doesn’t take long for Abigail Hood’s explosive play to strip away the safety net and plunge us into much darker territory. The razor-sharp dialogue slices through the thickest of skins to expose a very different fear, and all of its synonyms. Monsters are no longer imaginary creatures. They live among us as schoolgirls, mothers, teachers, lovers. Hood has unleashed a frightening yet rather beautiful creature in the guise of a brilliantly crafted and performed play.

We are in a scrap of wasteland in Glasgow, 2006. Kayleigh and Zoe are bunking off school, drinking, smoking, flirting, and dreaming of running away to the Isle of Muck (it sounds metaphorical, but is actually a real island in the Inner Hebrides). In psychobabble terms, Kayleigh has β€˜no filter’. Her teacher, Rebecca, tries to understand and tries to help, despite a husband who repeatedly warns her to step back. We soon see why Kayleigh never wants to go home. Home is where the hurt is. A mother who pimps her and punishes her in equal measure. The level of poisonous cruelty is quite shocking. The first of many questions – are people born evil or is it a result of their upbringing? – is raised. Gillian Kirkpatrick, as the Bible-quoting, whisky-toting mother pours incendiary fuel onto the debate with her grippingly caustic portrayal.

Hood writes like the lovechild of Sarah Kane and Irvine Welsh. The shock value is often underpinned by humour. The natural feel is matched by Hood’s own performance as Kayleigh. A brave (and possibly ill-advised decision) Hood pulls it off by probably being halfway under the character’s skin anyway having created her. Equally magnificent are the rest of the ensemble as they stagger along the line between the torturing and the tortured. Caitlin Fielding, as Zoe, encapsulates the dichotomy – we are never completely sure if her love for Kayleigh is real or merely a survival technique. Do you try to placate the monster or run away? Which could prove more dangerous?

Emma Keele is mesmerising as Rebecca, the liberal minded school mistress who reaches out a helping hand. It is no spoiler to reveal that she suffers the harshest bite. There is a heart-rending, graveside scene later in the play where Rebecca meets up with her now estranged husband, Steve (Kevin Wathen). Keele’s subtle facial expressions evoke years of grief and anger that words can only hint at, while Wathen palpably buckles under the weight of the cruelty of lives crushed by cruelty.

Violence crackles under the surface of this piece – with only one way to go. Whether you can see it or not, the horrific climax still comes as a shock. And it’s only the interval. The second act moves forward to 2019 with a dramatic shift in tone; acting as a kind of post-mortem on the past. Reconciliations come without redemption, and new starts never escape the tug of memories and those who cannot let them go. Director Kevin Tomlinson crosses over into the role of John, the new man in Kayleigh’s reconstituted life. His unconditional acceptance of the chaos into which he has unwittingly walked is the only slight dip in the narrative. But perhaps it is because there are no answers. Hood’s play provides plenty of thought, however.

What does it mean to be a β€˜monster’? Can it be prevented? Is the worst possible version of a person the only one there is? What part should society play? What are the causes of extreme violence? How does one cope with loss? How does one atone? Indeed, in extreme cases, can one?

β€œIs this justice?” asks Rebecca towards the end of the piece. To put the question fully in context might reveal too much, though I think I can get away with: β€œIs it right that a murderer can go on to create another life?”. Guilt, bereavement, abuse, violence, blame, absolution all vie with each other in this remarkable play. Far from comfortable, it is – like the characters portrayed – complex and complicated, provocative, and punchy. It hits below the belt – but it is vital we feel the full force, and the throb as the fist is pulled back. Not to be missed.

 

Reviewed on 2nd August 2022

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Ben Wilton

 

 

Previously reviewed at this venue:

When Darkness Falls | β˜…β˜…β˜… | August 2021
Flushed | β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜… | October 2021
Abigail’s Party | β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜… | November 2021
Little Women | β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜… | November 2021
Julie Madly Deeply | β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜… | December 2021
Cratchit | β˜…β˜…β˜… | December 2021
Another America | β˜…β˜…β˜… | April 2022
The End of the Night | β˜…β˜… | May 2022

 

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