A moving examination of overwhelming grief and resulting mental health issues that deliberately obfuscates the line between inner monologue and external intervention. Summary
Rating
Good
The performance opens to a young woman, dressed in grey lounge wear, sitting alone in a room with no window. It is cold and sparse, containing nothing more than a bed and a box, with a row of identical tracksuits hung up against the side. A lengthy monologue begins: she is addressing someone, but whether it is her own inner voice or another person is not clear. The woman shifts between feeling terrified by her surroundings and driven to take action, to sinking into lethargy with a complete inability to focus. She has no idea of the time of day, given there is no natural light to guide her. She returns to her bed at regular intervals to obsessively polish a photo frame. The monologue is interrupted by a voice, delivered via a small wooden box on stage, which appears to be her own, judging, mocking and chiding her, and she interacts with it. On occasions she moves to the side to enter into another style of conversation whilst sitting on a chair: this time she is feistier, keen to explain and justify her actions. Suddenly the room goes dark and a loud noise is played accompanied by red flashing lights. It scares her, whilst shocking the audience and she rushes to the bed to hide under a blanket. This continues at irregular intervals throughout the performance.
And so this pattern persists. Rebecca Weston Wright in the role is competent and nuanced. Delivering a considerable amount of speech, she never falters and moves between mental states easily, her face expressive and compelling. She holds our attention, but this section is overlong and the repetitive nature begins to drain the audience’s sympathy. It is intriguing though, as the watcher is never quite sure where she is: are the voices real or an imaginary conversation in her head? Is she suffering from extreme agoraphobia in her old bedroom at her parents’ house or is she legally restrained in a centre?
An intervention comes in the second half when meals are served via a prison style hatch by a person dressed in a gimp-like suit. Some more details are revealed which suggest she was the obsessive part of a relationship; whether consensual or imagined, we don’t know. The energy of the audience picks up as we lean in to try to understand more, but ultimately the performance returns to the same form as before, although increasing evidence suggests that we are in a residential treatment centre of some kind; the identical drab clothing indicating regulated dress.
The potential in this play lies in its writing, and in the deliberate opaqueness in its treatment of voices. Is this a physical manifestation of an inner monologue – the one that picks up on your insecurities, is deliberately cruel and plays them back to you? Or is it more obvious than that? It’s a play that is trying to make the audience work, and appreciate the multitude of inner demons which can sabotage anyone’s confidence.
Set design and lighting work well, highlighting the cell-like conditions we find the protagonist in, and the red alarm lights and noise continue to shock despite their frequency.
Nonetheless it is too long, with a running time of 100 minutes without taking into account the interval. Reducing it to a crisp 60 would transform it.
Created by: Rebecca Weston Wright
Sound/Lighting Design and Technician: Cameron Pike
Boxed In plays at Old Red Lion Theatre until Saturday 26 April.
