'Family crisis after family crisis' - Frantic Assembly’s Things I Know To Be True
‘Visceral’
Digital Theatre, The Independent and even the Daily Echo, which reviewed Frantic Assembly’s production at the Nuffield Theatre Southampton, the very same venue I attended, all use this term in their description.
Visceral, as in instinctive, as in intuitive... as in real. Truthful in some regard, the characters did continually reveal their ‘true’ feelings; but in a narrative that focuses on the troubles of the family, it is what is unspoken, what is secret that makes the family setting seem uncanny, disturbing and ‘fucked up’ as one brother lamented.
This production completely missed the nuances real family life, instead it was more like a spoken word musical, with spouting feelings, thoughts and reflections that seemed to undermine the audiences capacity for interpretation. The garden was one such detail; it was beautifully staged with orange bulbs dangling from the ceiling, a quaint wooden green shed, rose bushes growing from boxed beds. The whole play centralised around it. From this alone it was clear that the garden was important to the family, but constant musings on its significance, ‘so and so got married here’, childhood memories, so on and so on ruined the simple beauty of the setting.
The two hour production tried to pack in a lot of plot.
Andrew Bovell’s play is set in Australia around a family of six; the mother, a hard worker, stubborn minded and agitated, the father, gentler, humble and can’t work a coffee machine. A daughter Rosie who has gone travelling and suffered heart break, an older daughter who we later learn is leaving her ‘good’ husband and children for a Canadian, and two brothers, one of which steals money from work and is under threat of investigation, and the other discloses that he plans to become a woman. Family crisis upon family crisis. And to top it off, the play ends with the mother’s death.
The layers of events, seemingly intended to build tension until he climatic ending could have worked, if it wasn’t for the intense family feuds or heated discussions after every revelation. The screeching mother, the angered father, the stress of the scenes was all too much, and it numbed one to the plight of the characters. It couldn’t be real, it was trying too hard.
The music was a redeeming part of the show. German composer and producer Nils Frahm’s poetic piano pieces spoke of love, loss and distress so eloquently, especially the track ‘Ambre’ I only wished the company had used it more. Music can often say things better than lines of script.
The physical theatre Frantic Assembly is famed for was promising in the opening of the show, Rosie told the story of her gap year travels whilst hands appeared from darkness to touch her; the lighting was excellent. The lifts made Rosie soar as she recalled the way Emanuel, a Spanish boy she met, made her feel; the movement was effortless. The opening too staged the father, leaning forwards in darkness, further and further until you felt he would fall. For the ending this movement was repeated, but the rope that held his up was visible, tugged by his children to hold him upright in spite of his grief. These movement pieces were memorable, meaningful and beautiful. However one can’t help feeling that the production valued physical theatre over the content of the story.
I went into the performance with great expectations. A fellow drama undergrad told me it moved her to tears, while another friend expressed the incredible relatability of the characters. Both celebrated its ‘realness’. And as it was a Frantic Assembly production, it had to be brilliant right? They have been working since 1994, performed in 40 countries. I remember studying their work at A-Level; they were the contemporary practitioners. Perhaps this idolising made the disappointment of the show so confusing, confusing because I wanted to like it and couldn’t pin point exactly why I didn’t until I was on the bus home.
That moment, of epiphany or arrest that sticks in you didn’t happen, and as a result I felt detached from the show. I was in a seat that I had paid for (£10 student ticket), in a theatre, in the afternoon – I was never lost in the world that was proffered to me.