Remembrance Day
Seven Dials Playhouse • 23rd April - 1st June
Going to the theatre can be one of the most exhilarating experience’s you will ever have… it can also, on thankfully very rare occasions, be one of the most frustrating. Never mind wether the production you have invested your good money to see lives up to expectation, (a quick google search beforehand should hopefully be enough to steer you in the right direction), but what remains firmly in the hands of the theatre gods, especially as a reviewer on a packed press night for the opening of a new play, is how good the seat you have been allocated is and, as will no doubt be a familiar experience for any regular music or theatre goers, just how tall the person allocated to sit in front of you will be! Some theatres are better able to accommodate the unfortunate inconvenience of a +1.9m person sitting down directly in front of you just as the lights go down, the well appointed auditorium of the Gillian Lynne Theatre, (where I recently saw the excellent Standing At The Skies Edge), looked incredibly unlikely to have a single bad seat for example. By comparison, smaller fringe theatres understandably don’t fare quite so well, and it was unfortunate that I found myself drawing the short straw when I went to see Remembrance Monday at the Seven Dials Playhouse where, whilst situated an impressive one row away from the stage, I also found myself stuck behind someone who I’m assuming must have been at least 6’4”, there being little-to-no rise in the two rows squeezed in at the side of a rather compact ‘in-the-round’ stage. (I would advise anyone thinking of booking tickets in any of the three sides of the stage that aren’t part of the main auditorium to select the front row… just in case).
Yes, I accept it’s a strange way to start a review, and whilst reading these gripes you’d be perfectly justified in thinking that this seasoned reviewer should be able to see past such inconveniences… but therein lay the problem… I couldn’t. With no less than a third of the stage obliterated by the, presumably, perfectly lovely audience member, it was frustrating to say the least, especially given there would have been any number of plays where this wouldn’t have bothered me nearly as much, (indeed, for some it might have actually been a blessing!), but the real salt in the wound of seeing (or not seeing) Remembrance Day is that what I did experience looked and sounded incredible, making the heartbreaking story that unfolded on stage doubly heartbreaking for this reviewer to be missing out on.
Setting all that aside, I had already been excited to see this world premiere of Remembrance Day by actor/writer Michael Batten, who regular readers of Jack The Lad theatre reviews might remember from his excellent play Self Tape, which he both wrote and starred in at The Kings Head Theatre last year. Whilst he doesn’t make an appearance on stage this time around, he does manage to prove, once again, to be a master of skilfully drawing the audience into his work before flipping the narrative on its head. As such, he’s certainly not a playwright that avoids exploring the darker side of his characters lives, and his work is all the better for it as he is quickly proving himself to be a playwright of some distinction, capable of writing both intelligent and compelling pieces of new queer theatre.
As the play starts we already find Julius, (Nick Hayes), an ex-dancer, having a bath whilst his portrait-painter partner Connor (Matthew Stathers), is getting ready to go out for his best friends birthday. The couples relationship is quickly established through these early exchanges, and Julius’s displeasure at being left behind would initially appear to be not much more than a minor quibble between partners, one of who would just have preferred a quiet night in with his husband instead. All is not as it first appears however as, with the narrative taking us back in time to discover how the couple first met, we return back to the bathroom to watch the first scene play out again, subtly different this time around, with Julius appearing slightly more agitated by the prospect of Conor leaving the flat. This is enough to start gearing the audience up for the unexpected turn of events to come. It’s a truly engaging journey that is in no rush to give away its secrets, the play initially looking like it will be a muse on the passing of youth and the decline of relationships over time. Whilst that is all there to be discovered, Remembrance Day is so much more besides. Love, loss, trauma, homophobia, infidelity and the ability to trust our own memories all become part of Michael Batten’s heady concoction that will be sure to leave you moved and with plenty you’ll want to reflect on.
It certainly felt like everyone was bringing their A-game to this impressive production. Both of the actors in the two hander, (Matthew Stathers briefly doubling up as a third character), managed, with impressive ease, to switch between a number of complex emotions during the non-chronological journey through their relationship, all of which was neatly directed by Alan Souza on the small square stage of this intimate black box theatre. With a minimal, but elegant bathroom set from Set Designer Andrew Exeter, (where the majority of the action takes place), the small stage was ‘opened up’ by Jack Weirs impressive lighting and Sarah Weltmans equally elegant sound design, all three elements working together in a tight harmony that is all to rarely seen, either on a West End stage or in a fringe theatre.
It is therefore with a genuinely heavy heart that I find myself giving Remembrance Day four stars under the circumstances, as whilst I can’t help but think that it probably deserves five, there were portions of the play where one, if not both of the actors were completely obscured from my view by, if not the tallest, broadest man in London, then easily the tallest, broadest man in the theatre that night. However, I do strongly advise you go and see this remarkable play in order to discover that final missing fifth star for yourself.
★★★★
review: Simon J. Webb
photographs: Danny Kaan