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Review: How to Fight Loneliness (Park Theatre)

Review by Sam Waite

 

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

 

Known for plays and films focusing on language over action, and for his perceived misanthropy, Neil LaBute may well be an ideal voice for difficult discussions, the kind where too-involved an author may lean too noticeably towards one side of the debate. Such is the case with How to Fight Loneliness, one of his most recent efforts currently making its UK premiere at London’s Park Theatre – the play asks whether it is moral, whether it is right, to end the suffering of someone already doomed, and resists the urge to give its own answer.

 


Jodie and Brad set up their home for the arrival of a guest, a virtual stranger who Brad has newly met, and Jodie loosely knew in their high school days. Following a myriad of attempted treatments, Jodie has accepted the fate handed to her by a brain cancer diagnosis, and with longstanding rumours that Tate performed a mercy killing in his younger years, she hopes that he can offer the same to her. The first act is dedicated to this real-time conversation, with doubts coming to the surface and the request becoming more blunt.

 

Right off the bat, Mona Camille’s set tells us that Jodie is mid-transition. Aside from a handful of furniture pieces, their home is set within the barren landscape of the second act’s outdoor sequence, the presence of rocks, sand, and weeds simply ignored by the trio as snacks are offered, drinks are fetched, and difficult conversations are had. Interesting as this is, the two-scene second act presents some awkwardness, where stagehands must carry the various furnishings back onto the stage while the audience simply waits for the show to continue. Admittedly, I’d be at a loss for a more elegant solution myself, but it did prove distracting and required a re-engagement when so much work had been done in that first scene to develop emotional weight.

 


LaBute’s text leaves much to our interpretation, which is probably a good choice for such a complex topic. It’s rare across the two hours of stage-time that what’s actually being asked, what act is being requested, is stated clearly – there’s a lot of “it” or “this” thrown around, adding to the sense that even Jodie herself isn’t fully comfortable with broaching the subject. For every time Jodie is assured in her desires, there are a handful of hesitancies, of difficulty in saying the words, that suggest a fear still running deep. What could come across as over-wordy and elongating simpler dialogue, I found deeply human and realistically anxious.

 

Justina Kehinde has a lot asked of her, being both believably ready to die and understandably nervous of what this decision entails. Proving to be up to the task, Kehinde imbues the character with strength and determination, keeping her terror just below the surface for much of the performance, and unleashing a restrained fury when Jodie is simply too exhausted to carry on a civil discussion. Opposite her, Achie Backhouse’s Brad makes less of an impact at first, at least emotionally, his support for his wife unwavering but his willingness to continue pursuing other options all too apparent. Towards the end of the show, we see him finally release his own feelings, leading to a tremendous final scene from Backhouse.

 


Completing the trio is the all-important Tate, a man rumoured to have ended his dying stepbrother’s life as an act of mercy, and who is asked – eventually point blank – to commit a murder as an act of kindness. There’s a real awkwardness to Morgan Watkins’ performance, believably every bit the outcast Tate claims to have been in school. In more or less real-time, we watch as Tate is welcomed by the couple, comes gradually to see their suffering and care about their pain, and must reckon with the possibility of committing that deepest of sins – of both ending her suffering and inflicting more on Brad. It’s a difficult role, but one Watkins plays with energy and grace.

 

Perhaps Lisa Spirling, having previously collaborated with LaBute, ought to be given some credit for these fine performances. Her work keeps the trio of characters largely away from the histrionics one could easily expect with such painful subject matter, keeping her actors’ movements natural and their emotions allowed to build. For those not aware of the subject matter beforehand, Spirling lets the mystery settle fully, rather than letting the production or tone give away that nasty little twist.

 


Weighty and unwilling to foist its own views upon the audience, How to Fight Loneliness will likely alienate some audience members, scandalise others, and perhaps even bore a few. Admittedly it has the classic problem of running just that bit longer than it needs to – trimming 10 minutes in the second act’s lengthy first scene could have given the moment more haste, more energy, but who’s to say it wouldn’t have destroyed the pacing, or made the conclusion feel rushed and forced?

 

Unlikely to please everyone but carrying the writer’s trademark touch of misanthropy in its simply not caring, How to Fight Loneliness is further proof of LaBute’s talents as a writer, and of the risks that come with tackling complex and difficult topics in theatre, especially where the artists involved decide pointedly not to inject their own opinions.

 

How to Fight Loneliness plays at the Park Theatre until May 24th

 

 

Photos by Mark Douet

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