★★★★

“Felicity Huffman making her UK stage debut is mesmeric as Paige”

HIR pronounced “here” is a story about place, and in Pulitzer and Tony-nominee Taylor Mac’s darkly absurdist play it is about home, in this shockingly good production. The brilliant cast is led by the multi award winning American actress Felicity Huffman.

The prodigal son, Isaac (Steffan Cennydd) returns home from the Afghan war. Home is the place that Isaac couldn’t wait to leave when he joined the marines. Home is the place he sent dead soldiers back to in a box. Home is the place he dreamt about, and home is the place he is desperate to return to. But everything about his home is different.

Not him, not her, but hir is the preferred gender pronoun of his teenage younger sister, Max (Thalía Dudek), who is no longer his sister but his transgender / genderqueer sibling. His father (Simon Startin) is no longer his abusive father, but a dribbling stroke victim in a nightie, with a clown face and neon pink wig. And his mother (Huffman), who calls Isaac simply I, has become a not so batty, woke and merciless woman. Their quickfire chat and actions in this claustrophobic home knows no bounds as they try to look to a future.

Felicity Huffman making her UK stage debut is mesmeric as Paige from the moment the lights go up on their filthy, messy, shabby box of a house, menacingly built over landfill. Making her husband “shut the door” is torturous, made hilarious by the amount of times Huffman can make those three words sound so different. Paige’s deep set and sadistic revenge cruelty on her now pathetic husband is at times monstrous; as Huffman sprays him with a water bottle, like he is a disobedient dog, but still you laugh – to begin with. Huffman’s timing is faultless.

“more than yet another play about a dysfunctional family”

The cast play their roles with absolute conviction as: toxic masculinity, identity, mental illness, PTSD, raging hormones, disability, gender fluidity, emasculation, abuse and drugs, somehow all get their moment without being preachy in this firecracker four hander.

Thalía Dudek as the titular Hir is all testosterone and bravado, as hir convincingly proves that the Mona Lisa is transgender. Dudek also shows the character’s vulnerability and desperation to have hir brother’s traditionally masculine approval, again as the audience laughs – to begin with.

Masterfully directed by Steven Kunis who brings Hir to life, making it more than yet another play about a dysfunctional family. Hir might not quite have the shock value regarding identity, that Taylor Mac intended, when it first opened nearly a decade ago, but it still packs a punch. Set and costume designer Ceci Calf creates an extraordinary theatrical moment at the end of act one as the set closes ranks, as the 1960s pop song Little Boxes plays. And let’s not forget the hard working stage management team, who have a massive change to handle during the interval.

There’s no place like home but in Hir everything and everyone is broken.

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.

HIR at the Park Theatre

★★★★

“Felicity Huffman making her UK stage debut is mesmeric as Paige”

“more than yet another play about a dysfunctional family”

HIR at the Park Theatre

Reviewed on 21st February 2024

by Debbie Rich

Photography by Pamela Raith

Previously reviewed at this venue:

HIR

HIR

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”

LEAVES OF GLASS at the Park Theatre

Reviewed on 25th January 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Mark Senior

Previously reviewed at this venue:

LEAVES OF GLASS

LEAVES OF GLASS