THE URMETAZOAN

Hampstead Theatre

★★★

“a very human story about letting go”

“Where is everybody?”, asked the Italian-American physicist, Enrico Fermi, back in 1950. It is a question that goes back much further than that, but it is at the core of what is now known as the ‘Fermi Paradox’. Given the inconceivable number of stars in our Milky Way – and beyond – there is surely a high statistical likelihood that intelligent life exists somewhere out there; yet there is a total lack of evidence of it (a bit like the argument for time travel – if it exists, why has nobody come back to us from the future yet?). Most of the stars we see are much older than our sun, so advanced civilisations have had plenty of time to develop and colonize the galaxy. Yet where are they?

There are several theories, but none of them quell our innate desire to go out there and investigate. It is not necessarily at the core of our beings, but it is constantly bubbling away underneath. Similarly, the topic isn’t central to Alex Rugman’s new play, “The Urmetazoan”, but it’s a starting point. It focuses on two sisters; Alice (Dorothea Myer-Bennett) and Abigail (Meghan Treadway) who are worlds apart. They haven’t seen each other for seven years, but have come together for, perhaps, a last farewell. Alice is about to embark on a one-way mission into outer space.

We don’t know why they haven’t been in touch for so long. They weren’t ‘not talking’, as Alice observes, it’s just that they didn’t speak. Aspects of their relationship are touched upon but seldom followed through. When Alice says her departure – for ever – isn’t like death, Abigail disagrees. When Alice asks if she would prefer her to be dead on earth or alive ‘out there’, Abigail skirts the question. Rugman’s writing drives headlong into its various issues, but then sidesteps them somewhat in its quest for quirkiness. There are keen observations, nevertheless, and his portrait of the sisters’ bond is as sharp as it is authentic.

Myer-Bennett and Treadway match the dialogue with wonderfully natural performances, their lines and emotions overlapping in time to their shifting moods. Resentment and affection ebb and flow like tidal waves while verbal outbursts are pulled back by softer undertows and awkward pauses. The faltering connection is echoed by the frequent and abrupt blackouts that punctuate the short scenes. Anna Ledwich directs with wonderful stylistic flourishes. Each time the lights come back up, the sisters reappear in a slightly different time or space, as though in a parallel universe. Our own connection to the characters suffers slightly as a result, however, and the realism is sometimes broken. Yet ultimately the relatable performances draw us back in. We are like flies on the wall.

Alice isn’t just leaving her sister behind. There’s a guy. Will (Ben Allen), an astrobiologist who dropped out of the space mission. His initial presence is fleeting and insubstantial, but he returns later to flesh out the dynamics with more success. Alice has already left to prepare for the launch into space. Will has turned up at the house to collect a few things, to find Abigail alone. I shall say no more. The hasty unravelling veers towards the baffling and we start to lose sight of the characters’ motives. Myer-Bennett, however, beautifully portrays the fear that her imminent departure induces. Cold feet? They are positively frozen.

Tomás Palmer’s living room set has been gradually and surreptitiously stripped bare until we are eventually in the launch pad quarantine room. Alice and Abigail are separated by thick glass but that only emphasizes their closeness. There is reconciliation, maybe, but no real resolution. The questions posed at the beginning still loom large and unanswered. But that’s the way it has always been. “Where is everybody?”. The universe is so vast, are they all just too small to see? Like us. The title of the play refers to that impossibly unlikely link between basic single cell life and multi-cellular organisms that, over billions of years, gave rise to consciousness and intelligence. The ancestor of all life, as it were. An odd choice of title for Rugman’s play but, like the text, a good conversation piece. Myer-Bennett and Treadway are masters at capturing this conversational tone and Rugman builds well on this germ of an idea. What has evolved is a very human story about letting go.

THE URMETAZOAN

Hampstead Theatre

Reviewed on 24th September 2026

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Rich Lakos

THE URMETAZOAN

★★★

“a thoughtful meditation on our relationship with the Earth”

Fire Fire, written by John Webber and directed by Jennifer Tang, brings together two people who could not initially seem more different. Eddie is holding a memorial for his brother, intending to scatter his ashes, while Paige is closing a road as part of a climate protest. Their first encounter is fiery, and although they repeatedly clash, their paths continue to cross until an unexpected bond begins to form.

The production has a striking simplicity to it, with Peiyao Wang’s set and costume design creating an evocative landscape of soil and steps, complemented by Charly Dunford’s shifting lighting design. The two-hander is punctuated by moments of self-reflection, allowing both characters to share something of their inner worlds. At its heart is an intriguing concept: a meeting between grief and activism, personal loss and collective responsibility, and two people whose different experiences of the world gradually reveal unexpected points of connection. There is also a strong reflection on different points of view, and on how our sense of identity, purpose and connection to ourselves can differ, while underneath it all we may be far more similar than we realise.

There is a lot of potential in this premise, particularly in the way it brings together questions of class, climate, grief and personal responsibility. However, the play sometimes gets caught in a succession of events that leaves little room for the audience to pause and reflect. The stakes are high almost from the beginning, and as they continue to escalate, there are few opportunities to simply sit with the characters or allow their relationship to develop at a quieter pace. The result can feel emotionally tiring rather than increasingly affecting.

Some of the strongest moments are also the simplest. There are flashes of comedy rooted in recognisable human behaviour, and these moments bring a welcome sense of reality to the conversations. More of this grounded, everyday quality could have made the exchanges feel more natural. At times, the dialogue feels closer to a book being read aloud than two people genuinely talking to each other, with the dramatic weight of each new event sometimes taking precedence over the intimacy of the relationship.

The performances, however, are committed and generous. Gabrielle Brooks and Chris Simmons give the production everything, navigating its emotional and physical demands with energy. The moment involving Eddie’s brother’s ashes is particularly beautiful and deeply affecting, creating a rare stillness in a play that otherwise moves relentlessly forward.

Fire Fire offers a thoughtful meditation on our relationship with the Earth, the climate crisis and the direction in which the world is heading. Its central idea of finding common ground between people who appear to occupy opposing sides is timely and full of possibility. With more space to breathe, reflect and allow its characters to simply exist together, the play could perhaps have allowed some of its most powerful ideas to land more deeply.

Tag Archives: Sarah Spencer

THE URMETAZOAN

★★★

Hampstead Theatre

THE URMETAZOAN

Hampstead Theatre

★★★

“a very human story about letting go”