OUTLYING ISLANDS

Jermyn Street Theatre

★★★★

“The subject matter never quite chills our bones, but the context is often unsettling”

The atmosphere hits you like a bracing offshore wind as you descend into the depths of the small basement on Jermyn Street. Anna Lewis’ set: a semi-submerged, semi-derelict stone chapel, creates the mood. Tragic and sepulchral, yet some sort of haven from the cruel elements that sweep the remote Hebridean shoreline outside. Its owner, Kirk, is just as rough-edged. Living alone with Ellen, his niece, they live in quiet captivity until two young, hapless ornithologists burst through the door – literally knocking it off its hinges. The impulsive, emotionally detached Robert, along with the more moral but anxious John have arrived to study the local bird life. It is the eve of World War II, so there is understandably a more sinister motive behind the survey that leaves them stranded on the isle for a month. Less understandable is the fact that the two young men seem somewhat unaware of the pretext. Whereas the isolated, cantankerous Kirk has all the gen. Fully aware that his outlying outcrop is scheduled to be the subject of a biological weapon experiment, he sees the dollar-signs stockpiling in his compensation package.

David Greig’s lyrical play draws you in to this small world. It is claustrophobic but the confines are torn, allowing us to see the wider issues. Little, though, is made of the encroaching anthrax experiment and instead we are watching the social and romantic entanglements as avidly as birdwatchers study our feathered friends’ behaviour. Humans are much more complicated. Greig knows this only too well and the poetry of his language teases out the characters’ serpentine layers with rich dialogue and haunting monologues. The standout performance is Whitney Kehinde’s Ellen. Timid and repressed she swiftly replaces her dour mantle with swathes of lust, as a new-found freedom from her uncle’s tyranny is tragically chanced upon. Kevin McMonagle is wonderfully charismatic as Kirk. Acerbic and unashamedly direct, he tries to keep Ellen like a caged bird but cannot control her mind. The stage lights up every time McMonagle fires his lines with a wry sense of humour and a Chekhovian dramatic irony.

Bruce Langley and Fred Woodley Evans, as Robert and John respectively, also manage to spin out the humour that runs alongside the poignancy. Deliberate echoes of Laurel and Hardy break the solemnity in a play that is difficult to categorise. The comedy is subtle, like the Mona Lisa smile. It disappears when you look directly at it. The ambiguity is sometimes overdone, though, and confusion starts to set in as the show coasts towards its climax in a tangle of charged eroticism. Despite the shifts in mood, Jessica Lazar’s assured direction evenly paces the action. Clever use of the intimate space sets clear indicators for the interior and exterior scenes, enhanced by David Doyle’s suggestive lighting which evokes the bleakness, and ignites warmth when needed. The subject matter never quite chills our bones, but the context is often unsettling.

Politically and philosophically the play throws up some interesting questions while rooting itself in a story about human relationships. Desire is a complex beast. The male characters are more at sea than Ellen. We wonder whether she is playing the two outsiders or whether her passions are genuine. We are certainly given time to contemplate – the play does stretch itself out. Not every character makes it to the end. But, thanks to the writing and the wonderful performances from the strong quartet of actors, the audience is kept in thrall right up to the closing moments.