Grace (Sophie Harrison) is unable to work and is lodging with her brother in law, Vesuvius (Matt Aistrup), after her husband Charlie and the passengers of a missing plane are lost. Grace and Vesuvius’s relationship had me guessing almost instantly. We learn Grace has been prescribed some pills to help her cope and, equally suspicious, Vesuvius is sleep-deprived due to Grace's unpredictability and asks if he could “knock her out” so he can get some shut eye. Just as we try to keep up, two unconventional cops arrive, hopefully to shed some light on this murkiness. But they heighten the unsettling surrealism. They have intimate details they inexplicably acquired and oddly help themselves to cook eggs for their breakfast. The madness has spread here.
The script was very intriguing, but
unfortunately some comic material was skated over and I suspect this is down to the pacing of the piece overall. The aforementioned
dreamy oddity was a theme across the dialogue and its delivery, which came at the expense
of the jokes planted by writer Georgina Tremayne.
Another motif that had me quizzical was the
luminous house at the back of the stage. What purpose did this serve? Was it yet another attempt at a moving Salvador Dali painting, a representation of the
nature of mental illness or simply because there are references to houses (none
of which glow in the dark) in the script?
All of the actors did a good job to animate the vision of both writer and director, but I think it would benefit having
characters of an older age. I hate to sound fickle, but I think Grace’s grief would
in turn be more relatable and gain greater empathy.
This play would serve a second attempt as I
think we haven’t yet scratched the surface of its potential.
Words: Kate Morris
Images: Courtesy of 24:7 Theatre Festival
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