Lost in space: Ria Zmitrowicz (Mattie) and Jessica Raine (Gilda). Picture credit: Manuel Harlan
Theatre: Jerwood Theatre Downstairs, Royal Court
Play: X
Playwright: Alistair McDowall
Director: Vicky Featherstone
Review by Arani Yogadeva
Time, memory, loneliness, loss and love contort and shape-shift in Alistair McDowall’s dystopian psychological-fiction play.
McDowall’s X maroons four characters Gilda (Jessica Raine), Cole (Rudi Dharmalingam), Ray (Darrell D’Silva) and Clark (James Harkness) in a space station on Pluto – the planet furthest away from the planet from which they came – within a timeless modernity. There are no trees. Birds have disappeared and meat from real animals is all but a distant memory.
We meet them at the point of a simmering crisis within a familiar ‘will they, won’t they be rescued’ genre trope, albeit with an infinite supply of food, water and oxygen.
The play centres on scientist Gilda, second in command to astronaut Ray. She is anxious, spiky, overstretched, unsuccessful (in her personal and professional life), and introspective. The small scale of what are largely duologue scenes in the first half contrast with Merle Hensel’s muted and expansive set design: a drab, grey, off-kilter space station mirroring perhaps the insignificance of the human race in relation to time and outer space.
A large window exposing an infinite blackness takes centre-stage above which a clock burning with flame red digits provides an increasingly jittery and unreliable guide to the passing of time. Yet despite the play’s seemingly sci-fi setting, the presence of insubordination, back-biting and casual sexism between the characters render this a workplace drama.
McDowall skilfully ratchets up the psychological tension, culminating in the horror-genre appearance of a young girl with an ‘X’ where her mouth ought to be. Along the way we also meet Mattie both as a young adult (Ria Zmitrowicz) and a young child (played by Amber Fernee and Grace Doherty on alternate nights), who may or may not be their saviour.
I would defy anyone to anticipate part two based on the act one cliff-hanger. Instead, McDowell experiments with narrative form and structure to explore the wider thematic concerns of self, time, memory and loss within an existential space where things aren’t what they seem.
This approach comes at a cost as it burdens X with a heavy debt to (as opposed to a natural creative lineage from) a dazzling array of influences, not least Samuel Beckett, Sarah Kane, Stanley Kubrick and Caryl Churchill.
It’s testament to Raine’s impressive portrayal of Gilda’s emotional core which prevents what could be seen as an uncomfortable metamorphosis from her less appealing character in act one to a woman capable of being loving and loved. She is totally believable. Raine is ably supported by a talented cast whose characters are perhaps not as well-rounded in comparison.
Also the theatrical electricity of X is undermined by its inscrutable logic: McDowall doesn’t quite set off the genre grenades buried earlier on in the play. Characters are reimagined and memories are reinvented in a confounding rather than compelling way. As the play reaches its dramatic epoch, it’s unclear whether certain characters were actually necessary to the narrative at all.
Clearly, McDowall is a talented writer, able to convey beautiful and searingly emotional moments of poetic intimacy interlaced with wry humour. But while I admire his epic ambition with X, supported by coruscating lighting and sound design, and Vicky Featherstone’s directorial vision, the play only lingers in the mind for discombobulating rather than satisfyingly thought-provoking reasons.
X is at the Royal Court Theatre until 7 May 2016.