This unsettling triptych of loosely-connected plays is a quintessential Fringe production: offbeat, experimental, but exciting and compelling too. Penned and directed by Lily Kuenzler, the three short pieces explore themes of loneliness and isolation, set in different times and places and taking diverse forms. The imagery ranges from creepy to outright disturbing – but there’s a subtlety and elegance to script and performance, which keeps the tone dark rather than shocking.
At the heart of this show is a clever pairing of two actors, who each express deeply-felt emotions in very different ways. The combo works best in the third and final piece – where Stephanie Burrell’s almost-wordless physical portrayal eloquently conveys first confinement and repression, then pleading and hope, and finally, freedom won at terrible cost. Jon Berry, meanwhile, carries most of the spoken dialogue, and his is a truly stunning performance: emotive but suppressed, terrifying yet poignant, sometimes likeable, sometimes condescending, but always fragile.
Though the three stories feature entirely different characters, everyone we see harbours subtle damage, and most are struggling to come to terms with a loss. They’re teetering, we sense, on the edge of delirium – a topic that’s overt in the first of the pieces, then implied by Berry’s fractured vulnerability throughout. The pieces all have an element of body horror too, from the grim suspicion that hangs over the second piece to the emaciated skeleton – formed from everyday objects – that’s the centrepiece of the third. It’s nicely pitched: skin-crawling without being gross, and it lends the whole show a smart and creative visual style.
And yet… I’m not quite convinced that the three scripts work together. There’s a disturbing thematic link from the first piece to the second, but if I’m honest I found it a distraction; Kuenzler’s hauntingly-written monologue would be every bit as wrenching if Berry had delivered it unembellished, addressing an empty chair. That first piece, meanwhile, didn’t feel quite as dark as it wanted or needed to be. Burrell’s character read my mind when she commented that the “worst thing” her interlocutor could imagine doing – the mainspring of tension in the story – wasn’t, in the scheme of things, actually all that bad.
But any doubts are erased by the breathtaking final scene, which makes perfect use of the two actors’ complementary skills and builds towards an unexpected, profoundly unsettling conclusion. The closing image – of Burrell dancing with bittersweet delight, while Berry sits frozen in an expression of utmost horror – ranks among most vivid I can remember on a stage. So this is a challenging show, a touch uneven at times, but ultimately thought-provoking and darkly thrilling. It’s only here for a few more days, so catch it while you can.