Jane Bodie’s Hilt is a play about connections made
and lost, about home – defining what it is, and finding our way back there;
it’s about doing the ‘right’ thing insofar as we are able to, and trying not to
regret the decisions and actions we make. It asks just how much are we willing
to sacrifice to live ‘the dream’?
Playing at the Old 505 Theatre, Hilt was (we are told) written out of a disassociation
with urban living and apartments in particular, the disconnection and
compartmentalisation of life – like living in milk crates stacked on top of
each other – is very much apparent in Bodie’s play, from the frequent muffled
interruptions by the neighbours through eggshell-thin walls, to the
conversations Kate and Adam share over breakfast in the middle of the play.
Set upon a simple
and sparse white set designed by Katren Wood, there is a bed – frequently (and
perhaps affectionately?) referred to as the “mezzanine” – a couch, several full
bookshelves and not much else aside from a pile of books in the corner. Clean,
crisp and ‘modern,’ there is a deliberate lack of what an interior designer
would probably call ‘character’ to the design which perfectly reflects Kate and
Adam’s strained and sometimes tempestuous relationship. Alexander Berlage’s
clean bright lighting – which changes to a deep and moody blue during the scene
changes – completes the sterile feel of the set, while providing a subtle
warmth that amplifies the heart in Bodie’s writing.
There is a
fierceness to Alexandra Aldrich’s Kate and Stephen Multari’s Adam, a fierceness
which disguises a weariness and perhaps a sacredness. They are two people who
are desperately trying to reach each other from either side of a disintegrating
relationship; the more they fight it, the harder it becomes to regain their
closeness. Joanna Downing’s Clara is a direct contrast to Sam O’Sullivan’s
Nick; where she is cool and forthright, he is nervous and wants Kate to take
control of the situation. There is a disarming directness to Clara and
Downing’s portrayal of her, and you cannot help but get sucking into her orbit;
like Adam, you cannot help but want to see her again, despite what the rules
say. While O’Sullivan’s Simon is again different to his Nick, they both share
an all-too-identifiable awkwardness, born of an unchecked attraction to Kate
and a desire to please (or seem, at least, pleaseable).
There’s something
in Bodie’s writing which seems effortless, but is actually quite difficult, to
both write and perform. Her writing is all too human, her characters are like
us, and we can perhaps see ourselves and our friends in them at times. There’s
an attraction there, too, not far beneath the surface, and when it breaks, it
is intoxicating; it’s smart, too, as well as painful and beautiful. As in all
of Bodie’s work, there is a fierceness and a tenderness, a lyrical quality,
which form two sides of the same coin, which are never too far away from each
other. When coupled with her fascination with intimacy and honesty, more than a
bit of claustrophobia and quite a strong proclivity for emotional rawness (and,
sometimes, violence), her plays are gruelling, but there is a light at their
end which could get lost or seem mawkish in inexperienced hands.
Here, director
Dominic Mercer has coolly and measuredly created a production which doesn’t
feel forced; rather, in trusting Bodie’s writing, her skill as a playwright,
and the actors, he uncovers a tangible rawness, a real lived-in-ness to Bodie’s
characters and scenes, and the cast play them with relish. There are echoes
here of Bodie’s previous work, like This Year’s
Ashes, A Single Act and Still and, if
anything, it makes it just that little bit more real, more raw, to be riffing
on established themes; cementing its place in Bodie’s world as much as our own.
My only minor
quibble here is that one or two scene changes towards the end felt too long,
although they were covering necessary costume changes. But that is only a minor
quibble in an otherwise strong and confident production. At its heart is the
uncompromising question – when we are pushed to the hilt, to the very limit of
our being and all our strength is gone, how do we step back from the edge? How
do we find our way back home? How do we find each other again?
Theatre playlist: 15. Girls, Death in Vegas
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