Robin and Hazel are two retired nuclear scientists living on the edge of an exclusion zone set up in light of a cataclysmic event that occurred at the nuclear plant where they used to work — leaving the surrounding area with dangerous levels of radiation. Rose an old friend and colleague turns up having apparently not visited for years with frightening intentions: she is going back to the power plant to “clean up the mess” that she and her contemporaries created.The implication here is that by doing so she will be signing her death warrant, but as Rose notes “it’ll take twenty years to take effect” and by that point they’ll already be dying.
The opening third of the play is a highly entertaining duologue between Hazel and Rose. Hazel - an organised, routine-based domestic goddess - is put off-kilter by Rose’s - played with a chilly charm by Francesca Annis - arrival. Hazel does yoga, talks and talks, often dogmatically and often whilst doing something else — always a little distracted. Rose smokes, is still, careful, calm and happy to be in the moment she's in. They couldn’t be more different — additionally there’s a very overt tension. The subtext for the majority of the opening duologue is one of such overbearing antagonism, awkwardness and passive aggressiveness that it’s almost a given from the start that things will become more heated later on. When Rose offers to get Hazel a glass of water and knows exactly where the cupboard is - despite having never visited the house - it is almost impossible for the audience to miss the fact that she probably has been there before. Thus this portion of the play — although very entertaining — is slightly on the nose.
The acting is of the highest quality. There’s an obvious deep sense of trust between the cast and a very clear sense of each of them really listening to each other at all points. Deborah Findlay’s Hazel is one of the finer examples of a an actor balancing both the tragedy and comedy of a character — hilarious from the get-go but also deeply sad to observe throughout. Ron Cook’s Robin - preoccupied with the idea of our bodies being just “rented meat” - is a candid, almost Jacques figure whose monologues on the pain of becoming impotent in the face of those who are beautiful and young is gut-wrenching. Francesca Annis’ Rose - on stage for the entirety of the piece - does a remarkable job of making Rose incredibly likeable despite a less than angelic past.
Kirkwood is undeniably a brilliant writer, but she has written the first three acts of what feels like a fiveact play; a hundred and ten minutes with no interval feels bizarrely too short, which is credit to a writer who is capable of writing thought provoking content but rhythmically accurate speech and conversation that holds one’s attention seamlessly. But the human situation in this piece never fully acts as a counterpoint to the wider environmental issue. At times it feels almost too well crafted, but not completely satisfying at the end — potentially simply too clean and controlled.
With a flawless company, exceptionally good writing and moments of hilarity and sadness in equal measure this is a show to recommend to anyone and everyone, but it isn’t unmissable. The Children never quite adds up to the sum of its parts.
Each year the late November brings us one of the best artistic festive inventions ever; the panto. The production of ALADDIN is this year’s offering from The Lyric Hammersmith. Directed by Ellen McDougall and written by Joel Horwood the show takes us on a journey full of laughter, high energy and some political references. Despite the presence of the magic flying carpet, at times ALADDIN lacks the necessary sparkle that makes for a great panto; this production still offers plenty of fun for both the old and the young.