People, Places & Things @ Trafalgar Theatre, London
See it for Denise Gough’s incredible performance. See it with caution if you’ve experienced addiction or seen family or friends battle addictions; though it bravely considers why people take drugs of all kinds in the first place. Prepare to be stunned by the searing, yet creative ways, in which Denise Gough’s central character ‘Sarah’s’ (or [perhaps Emma/Nina) addiction is portrayed on stage. For Malachi Kirby’s shining transformation as Mark. Marvel that Denise Gough performs to this intensity several times a week!
Joltingly for such as stark, clean and modern minimal setting, we start with Victorians acting out Chekhov’s The Seagull. Only this is about to go horribly wrong ‘live’ as ‘Nina’ starts ad-libbing her lines and ripping apart the fourth wall. Suddenly, we encounter a woman off her head booking herself into a unit or a clinic to, manage her addiction. Whilst not facing up to her addiction, we see her taking cocaine, smoking and drinking just waiting for reception to sign her in. There’s a terrible event with someone in the grips of severe addiction or psychosis — in the main reception lobby. However, Trainspotting this is not. The character we’re following is sensory overloaded by the chaos they’ve just seen.
Set in a strip lit sterile tiled box (very Harold Pinter-esque), doors and entrances/exits open in the walls, and a bedroom/bathroom set slides on and off the stage at intervals. At one point, a whole bedroom set piece slots neatly down around the main character. With incredible use of movement and stylised visuals, Sarah/Emma/Nina wobbles about all over the place, balks at taking yet more drugs to come off drugs. When they list their current intake, it’s a wonder they’re alive and coherent. For the woman, this is a done deal, about getting a bit of paper. Another thing to be got through.
The doctors there (and the staff) have bigger aims. This is about finding out who you are again, who you are without the addiction, who you can be with others. A commitment not only to a method and programme, but to belief — in yourself, possibilities, maybe even a ‘Higher Power’ or spiritual awakening. Most of all, the truth. Nina or perhaps Emma says ‘no, no. no’ — she’s having none of this spiritual stuff, believers especially Christians are scary idiots. And yet…
Called out by Mark (Malachi Kirby) for bowdlerizing The Seagull as her ‘confession’ during a time of group therapy, this is more than just her truth. It’s about how she values and treats the others. If they are all willing to openly up to a group of randoms and addicts, sharing their deepest pain and realities, doing it, going with it — why can’t she? How can she disrespect them and their willingness to engage, by not doing so?
A bit like One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, we encounter doctors, those fighting addiction, staff (often former addicts) and their stories. Nina now Emma is often crumpled in a heap, weeping inconsolably, turned away, yet angry, raging, seething. She can’t and won’t believe, but also can’t and won’t believe in herself, her own humanity, worth and value.
The pain of withdrawal is shown as disintegration — personified by several Emma’s who crawl out of her bed, writhe out of walls and move around the stage groaning, in agony. All against a backdrop of automatic gunfire. At other points Emma sees herself being spoken to by the doctors in bewilderment. Yet Mark wants to help her to literally face herself and to fight back, to find herself under all the acting. We discover that Emma is just a stage name, we’re with Sarah who sees her mum in all older women, who lies as easily as breathing, and who has endured terrible family trauma. But also created and caused trauma within her own family.
We’re in an AA meeting, where participants rehearse conversations they’d like to have with people nearest and dearest to them, those they’ve hurt. There’s a horrible moment when Mark reveals how he treated his sister and his dying relative. It’s excruciating but necessary as those seeking freedom from addiction navigate the people, places and things which trigger their cravings and behaviours and their pasts. The group humorously (but also deeply seriously) reel off the places and social situations they can no longer go to. At the same time it’s excruciating as a send-off turns into a maelstrom of emotions and confrontations, everyone teetering on a knife-edge. If one falls, all fall.
Visually stunning (literally stunning the senses at points), this is a hard watch if you’ve been anywhere near addiction, or as a Christian. Although in a non-faith/all-faiths setting, Christianity is talked about a lot — and bashed a lot, leading to a lot of mocking giggling at any expression of faith from parts of the audience. Sadly the Christianity portrayed is cliched, out-of-date, stereotyped. I have no issue with Christianity or Christians being examined, interrogated in a play, but atleast make the portrayals truthful. Stereotypes have no value at all.
Although the argument is very one sided as Sinead Cusack’s doctor is not allowed to get a word in edgeways when Sarah’s in full-flow. At the same time, whilst being portrayed as weak, spineless, stupid, posh and irrelevant, this Christian doctor is willing to engage with Sarah’s intellectual challenges — reading Foucault and watching the Exorcist. I wish Sinead Cusack had been allowed to keep her own accent in this role — it would have provided a stronger contrast to Emma/Sarah, who had not only lost their own accent, but their self. Similarly Paul (the man we encounter at the beginning in a deeply distressed state) who is later ejected from the group for spitting at Sarah/Emma and who returns weeping to apologise to the group before being removed, again. He becomes a man of faith, with some wild beliefs. However, he radiates love, kindness, compassion — and you can’t fight that. When Paul (Kevin McMonagle), Mark and Sarah/Emma join hands together to pray, it’s really moving and tender. As Mark says, Sarah/Emma might find her own spiritual awakening too.
Plunged into darkness and back again, we encounter Sarah in a terrible state coming back to rehab again. In a moment of changing clothes, we see the terrible bruises on her body, gasp at them and wonder how she got them, who did them. This time Sarah comes in a place of humility and need, she knows she needs the help and is much more willing to engage with the support structure. Maybe she’s also more willing to trust this time. Mark is transformed, he’s now a member of staff. Foster (Danny Kirrane) who Sarah gave such a hard time, lost his dog and his fight for life. There’s kindness, celebration and terror — all in one Act.
At the end, we’re left admiring Sarah’s bravery and courage at returning to her family home, though at the same time recognising that reconciliation takes many forms, not necessarily in-person. Here she faces acute hostility, rejection, dismissal — though we find out that her addiction led to her to behave violently, aggressively, cruelly. We only see things from Sarah’s Point of View, with her parents’ experiences hinted at. Though her mother’s words are shocking, if we understood more of their experiences, they are a trauma produced form of self-protection — and exasperation at constantly caring and being hurt. Yet could easily undermine Sarah’s fragile new truthful self. The cruelty and savagery takes our collective breath away.
In its ending, this is a celebration of those who keep on keeping on in the face of hurt, trauma, rejection, pain, with the ordinary things of life, without a dramatic revelatory moment and suffering still, who fight on.
Like The Hills of California, I wish we’d had a pause at the end to allow us to cry, to process emotions, to reflect, as this spiky (often funny) play merits it. For as in the play, we’re reminded how much we need community, to be together. Is the AA a cult? No so in this play, it’s people — and community. Which is why I wish the staff (apart from one or two) had been less faceless, as the hands, feet and hearts which care, support, hold, protect.
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