THE ICE AT THE END OF THE WORLD at the Omnibus Theatre

★★★★

“Madelaine Moore’s direction is assured, moving with suave authority”

The Ice at the End of the World is chilling in the best way possible. Seldom in the theatre have I needed to squeeze someone’s hand quite so frequently. The lady next to me was very understanding. Luckily, I’d brought her with me. For seventy five minutes, we are aboard a tall ship, and taken on its eerie and highly unsettling excursion into the Arctic Circle.

We follow a small group of artists, who have been selected to undertake this really quite dangerous and not-just-for-giggles journey for the sake of their art. Their inspiration is ‘life at the end of the world’ (although this detail is not entirely clear). But the further north they go, the more disturbed things become. By the end of the piece, it is assuredly a cosmic horror, which harnesses both alien terror and a mythological morality tale concerning climate change and the arrogance of the human race.

The first thing that should be complimented is the superb plethora of non-verbal material here. Lighting (Megan Lucas) and Sound Design (Russell Ditchfield) work in compelling symbiosis. The axiom of this show is ‘we do not take the journey; the journey takes us.’ Thus, the actors weave between dialogue and protean physical theatre, cultivating the eerie unreality of life aboard a ship – maddeningly claustrophobic within the vast entrapment of the sea. Silhouettes, voiceovers, dance, and more, meld seamlessly, conjuring the other-worldly enchantments of the journey north.

Madelaine Moore’s direction is assured, moving with suave authority, and allowing its non-dialogic elements to taunt and threaten. They express the ineffable and erotic temptations of nature, especially as the ice melts, revealing the untamed potential of the uncivilised Earth, which demands something in return for the damage we have unthinkingly wreaked upon her.

The cast is brilliant as the four-person crew of eccentrics. Laura (Judith Amsenga), who functions as Nature’s tour guide of the Arctic Circle, is commanding and unhinged in terrifyingly equal measure. Eleanor Dillon-Reams is captivating as Alys, the sort-of protagonist, and a translator of Finnish poetry – of course, she is herself, a former, failed poet. Katy Schutte (who is also the writer, deserving of its own commendation) and Gian Carlo Ferrini are also excellent, and their characters complement the piece throughout.

This piece of theatre – I’m loath to call it but a play – is, at its core, a theatrical argument between Mother Nature and the human race: It is a battle of ego. Alongside, there is a recurring conceit devolving the nature and origin of genius. Here, genius manifests as an attendant demon that threatens to possess its human vessel completely. This idea looms throughout, posing some wonderful philosophical knots for the journey home.

A word used in the piece is ‘unsettling’: it is the perfect word with which to consider this play. We are unsettled constantly: by the movement of the ship, and by the evasive and disturbing chain of events.

If I had any criticisms, it would be that a discussion of queerness feels a little shoehorned in and lacking in sufficient development. I’d also say that some of the more abstract physical theatre was perhaps introduced too early to deliver its full effect. But I am nit-picking.

The Ice at the End of the World is endlessly resourceful. Its lens is panpsychist, probing the boundaries of consciousness and power, and flirting with the liminal spaces between Human and Nature, and where Art disrupts these fabrics. It is also a warning: a warning that the planet will avenge its destruction at the hands of human beings; a warning that the permanence of the Earth will forever haunt the exploits of mere mortals, no matter what their contributions. There’s also some really cool stuff with ice bears. I could not recommend this show enough.