WHILE THEY WERE WAITING

Upstairs at the Gatehouse

★★★★

“a tender and humorous reflection on the art of pausing”

At first glance, the set suggests a threshold to anywhere or nowhere. A yellow door stands centre stage, framed by a bench, clusters of plants, drifting clouds and scattered boxes. Designed by Hannah Danson, the world feels recognisable yet faintly imagined, like a memory of a waiting room rather than a literal one. It is grounded in realism but gently tips into the surreal.

Directed by Sydney Stevenson, the production leans confidently into this delicate balance between absurdism and emotional sincerity, allowing stillness and silence to sit comfortably alongside heightened comic exchanges.

Into this space steps Mulberry, played by Steve Furst. He welcomes us holding an umbrella without a canopy beneath the sound of falling rain. Furst fills the stage with assured presence and finely tuned comic expression. We quickly grasp the central condition of his existence: he does not know the time, yet he must wait. More than that, he has turned waiting into a hobby. He insists he enjoys it.

He is soon joined by Bix, performed by the play’s writer, Gary Wilmot. Wilmot not only stars in the production but makes his playwriting debut with While They Were Waiting. His character carries a lighter, more open energy, slightly dishevelled in unironed clothes and gently curious about his circumstances. Unlike Mulberry, Bix seems genuinely intrigued by the reason he is there.

The two men stand before the same yellow door, yet appear fundamentally opposed. They rarely agree, though they circle strikingly similar questions.

What is time? What defines a place? Is a location shaped by how we perceive it, or by how others see us within it? If I say I am here, but you see me as being there, where are we really?

Wilmot’s writing allows these philosophical ideas to unfold through rapid-fire banter and carefully timed jokes that dovetail neatly into one another. The dialogue balances absurdism with accessibility, layering small reflections beneath comic exchanges. Furst’s ability to undercut Mulberry’s rigid, almost authoritarian persona with flashes of pantomime-style humour is sharp and effective, while Wilmot plays Bix with warmth and a quiet emotional undercurrent.

Mulberry insists that waiting is a pastime; Bix suggests ringing the doorbell, something Mulberry claims to have already tried and firmly discourages repeating.

“But waiting is boring!” Bix protests.

And that question lingers. What do we do in the pauses? How do we inhabit the in-between spaces of our lives? Wilmot’s script proposes that it is precisely within these mundane liminal moments that life’s most profound truths reside.

There is deliberate repetition throughout, reinforcing the cyclical nature of waiting. It serves the themes well, though at times the patterns become predictable; certain jokes and exchanges feel anticipated before they land. Yet even within that familiarity, the performers’ chemistry sustains the rhythm.

At its heart, While They Were Waiting is an ode to life’s suspended moments, those stretches where we feel almost submerged in Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, unsure whether we wish to move forward or remain where we are. It becomes a heartfelt meditation on existence, grief, companionship and the quiet relief of leaning on another person.

There are flashes of genuine vulnerability that cut through the comedy. Occasionally, however, the script edges toward telling us how to feel rather than allowing emotion to surface organically. The most powerful moments arise in the subtext, in what is left unsaid, in the stillness between lines.

Blending absurdism, warmth and introspection, While They Were Waiting offers a tender and humorous reflection on the art of pausing. It suggests that perhaps waiting is not an interruption of life but life itself, happening quietly while we think nothing is happening at all.

WHILE THEY WERE WAITING

Upstairs at the Gatehouse

Reviewed on 3rd March 2026

by Nasia Ntalla

Photography by Simon Jackson

WHILE THEY WERE WAITING

★★½

“visually arresting and conceptually intriguing”

First and Last Men is a contemporary dance work inspired by Olaf Stapledon’s 1930s science-fiction novel of the same name. The production draws heavily from Jóhann Jóhannsson’s film and score, originally created as a cinematic meditation on the novel. Projected behind the performers are stark black-and-white images of vast concrete monuments and drifting mist, while Tilda Swindon’s measured narration recounts the story of humanity two billion years into the future – the last men attempting to communicate across time at the edge of extinction.

The visual and sonic world is undeniably powerful. The monumental structures – Yugoslav spomeniks filmed like relics of a forgotten civilisation – dominate the stage. They are imposing, beautiful, and melancholic. The score swells with a sense of cosmic inevitability, and Swindon’s voice carries intellectual and emotional weight. In many ways, the film and narration are more compelling than the live performance unfolding in front of them.

Adrienne Hart’s Neon Dance brings the last men to life through dancers Fukiko Takase, Kelvin Kilonzo and Aoi Nakamura. In Stapledon’s vision, these future beings possess telepathic abilities and an evolved consciousness. Onstage, however, they appear less like higher forms of life and more like stylised extensions of the backdrop. The costumes by Mikio Sakabe and Ana Rajcevic are simple yet effective, at times resembling moving monuments themselves – sculptural forms that echo the concrete giants on screen. This visual parallel is striking and arguably one of the production’s strongest theatrical ideas.

Yet the choreography (by Adrienne Hart, Makiko Aoyama and the dancers) does not rise to the same level of invention. The movement is repetitive and often feels empty, circling the same gestures without deepening or expanding the narrative. Instead of embodying the epic scale of extinction and evolution, the dancers frequently seem to fill space rather than transform it. The sense of doomsday is established from the outset and remains static throughout. There is little tonal shift, no development, no contrast – only a continuous atmosphere of solemnity.

Despite the dancers’ technical precision and control, the choreography does not add new layers of meaning; it rarely matches the scale or intelligence of the source material. The most affecting moments occur when the movement stills and the audience can fully absorb the film’s haunting imagery and the gravity of the text.

There is ambition here – a bold attempt to translate speculative philosophy into physical form. What remains, however, is a production in which the cinematic elements overshadow the live performance. The monuments linger in the mind; the choreography feels like carefully composed, yet ultimately empty imagery.

First and Last Men is visually arresting and conceptually intriguing, yet it feels static and underdeveloped. For a work about the end of humanity and the vast arc of time, it paradoxically feels emotionally narrow – a beautiful but monotonous meditation that struggles to justify its choreographic presence.

Tag Archives: NASIA NTALLA

WHILE THEY WERE WAITING

★★★★

Upstairs at the Gatehouse

WHILE THEY WERE WAITING

Upstairs at the Gatehouse

★★★★

“a tender and humorous reflection on the art of pausing”