★★★

“a show that draws you in”

Loss, sculptures and hallucinations bring us into the world of Lorenzo Allchurch’s new play. Here, grief and comedy go hand in hand and you never know how destructive things can get till it’s too late.

After his mother’s death, Allen struggles to cope. He’s not really on speaking terms with his father or brother, so the days slip away while he remains closed off in a family home he can’t afford and surrounded by his mother’s work (i.e. sculptures). And there’s that voice he keeps hearing, a voice talking to him. It’s coming from William S. Burroughs; his sculpture, to be more accurate. Allen’s isolation gets disrupted and peculiar things start to happen, till a fire breaks out and Allen needs to decide once and for all whether he’s going to face his grief and or let it consume him.

The performances given by all three members of the ensemble were fantastic. Lorenzo Allchurch himself plays the role of Allen and manages to highlight the intriguing nuances of the character, with some hilarious comedic timing when interacting with police constable Dread, played by Leah Aspden. Aspden shines during the interrogation scene and balances the seriousness and wittiness of their character phenomenally. Gabriella Moran takes on the roles of Allen’s family, which are the father, brother and dead mother. It’d be nice to see some more variety between the characters, even if they don’t appear on stage for too long. If it wasn’t for the different costumes, it’d be challenging to tell the characters apart, though there is some lovely chemistry between the dead mother and Allen.

Jason Isaacs surprises us by giving his voice to the bust of William Burroughs, the main hallucination, or guardian angel, talking to Allen. A captivating audio appearance with a voice that is intriguing, hilarious and perfectly fit to speak Allen’s thoughts, even the most intrusive ones.

There is real potential in this play. Some deep exploration of grief, how it affects mental health and distorts how we perceive reality. But Lost Watches can’t decide what it wants to say. Some entertaining jokes are made, then suddenly we have the spirit of Allen’s mother visiting him and dancing with the floating head of William Burroughs. Its subject matter gets sidelined by the comedy and it’s never clear whether what we see is a coping mechanism, a narrative device or straight up hallucinations. Alex Helfrecht’s direction doesn’t help to clarify that and doesn’t really help with the pacing of the show. When the epilogue comes on, it feels abrupt like something is missing; maybe an interval and another twenty to thirty minutes to help us delve deeper into the characters and the plot.

Rob Davis, as the production designer and art director, delivers a set that is simple, yet very atmospheric. There are sculptures covered with sheets, with William Burroughs’ bust in the centre. Also, with a projector’s assistance, we see a window to the outside world, making the small stage feel less claustrophobic and the time passing clearer.

Lost Watches is a show that draws you in. It’s entertaining, but lacks the depth that is required for themes like grief and self-destruction, resulting in an evening that leaves you wondering ‘is that all there is to it?’

OUR COSMIC DUST

Park Theatre

★★★

“charmingly human and unique”

“Our Cosmic Dust” takes a heavy topic and makes it light. Paradoxically, it looks at its subject matter through a child’s eye and, by doing so, tackles the mechanisms of grief and loss with a clarity and maturity that can only come from the honesty of innocence. The emotions are loud and big, but writer and director Michinari Ozawa’s play is quiet and intimate while also allowing touches of comedy to seep into the narrative – a brave choice, like someone telling jokes at a wake.

The central character is Shotaro, a curious schoolboy who spends his night counting the stars and wondering how many more unseen stars there are in the ‘dark bits in between’. Voiced by Hiroki Berrecloth, Shotaro is brought to life in puppet form. Berrecloth is pulling the strings and through his subtle and sensitive performance he layers rich expression onto the mute, blank face of the marionette. Shotaro believes his late father is up among the stars but realises that it is humanly impossible to get there to go and look for him. Instead, he opts to search for answers closer to home. ‘Where do people go when the die?’ is his recurring question.

His mother, Yoko, finds him missing one day. What is brushed over in Ozawa’s play is the unwitting selfishness of the boy – a pointed stab at the fact that the mother is not allowed, or given time, to grieve for herself. After all she is recently widowed, but the child pulls focus. Yoko has to remain useful as the mother in search of the son in search of the father. Millie Hikasa visually expresses these conflicting emotions, while also conveying the fear of a mother losing a child. The ensuing journey mercifully gives us some light relief. The characters that Shotaro, and then Yoko, meet all adopt childlike mannerisms that keep the adult world at bay. We enter a vaguely Dr. Seuss type world as we wander from the hospital to the crematorium to the planetarium.

Nina Bowers gives a delightful performance as nurse Tara who keeps her memories locked away in the silver tooth of her late mother. Sweary and naturally crude, she teams up with Yoko on their search, enlisting crematorium worker, Alastair (Hari Mackinnon), with all his fragile and tearful rashness; and finally, the matter-of-fact keeper of the planetarium, Orion (Ian Hallard in fine form). Each persona represents various viewpoints of the sweeping spirituality versus science debate. Without lecturing, the dialogue throws innocence and experience into the pit to gently fight it out.

Eika Shimbo’s video backdrops dominate the space, occupying the entire back wall. Predominantly monochrome, there is a childish simplicity to the animation that prevents the audience being fully swept into the three-dimensional world of its characters. Our imaginations are teased but the scale of the graphics sits uneasily with the piece. Too dominant to echo the workings of our protagonists’ thoughts, yet not quite grand enough to draw us into the cosmic odyssey we are promised. Tomohiro Kaburagi’s sound evokes stronger emotions, along with the music of Orenograffiti (ORENOTE) with its ethereal pads, rhythms and lush strings.

Translated from Ozawa’s Japanese original by Susan Momoko Hingley, the dialogue is sharp, and it travels well. It is difficult to disguise the over simplified sentimentality of its conclusion, however. It has come full circle during which its orbit has been more fascinating than its destination. The young Shotaro has needed guidance but seeking it he has shown that we all need it. Loss, grief and longing isn’t the preserve of the young or the old – it is universal, and Ozawa has presented this in a charmingly human and unique way.

LOST WATCHES

Park Theatre

★★★

“a show that draws you in”

LOST WATCHES

Park Theatre

Reviewed on 1st August 2025

by Stephanie Christodoulidou

Photography by Mark Senior

Last ten shows reviewed at this venue:

LOST WATCHES

LOST WATCHES

LOST WATCHES

OUR COSMIC DUST

Park Theatre

★★★

“charmingly human and unique”

OUR COSMIC DUST

Park Theatre

Reviewed on 6th June 2025

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Pamela Raith

Last ten shows reviewed at this venue:

OUR COSMIC DUST

OUR COSMIC DUST

OUR COSMIC DUST

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