Writer: Lorenzo Allchurch
Director: Alex Helfrecht
Lost Watches is a comedic drama dealing with loss, trauma, memory, faltering relationships, and the processing of grief arising from bereavement or extreme change in a loved one.
Central character Allen is played by Lorenzo Allchurch, also the writer of the piece, with a passing resemblance to Beat Poet Allen Ginsberg. Under-qualified and over-worked in dead-end jobs – “kitchen porter; pubs; London Dungeon” – Allen is mourning his recently passed Mother, finding solace in occupying her sculpture space.
He struggles through his angst and bewilderment in the dim basement studio, with its atmospheric, shrouded figures, backdrop of unfinished sculptures, and grimy, pavement-filtered skylight. Mother’s final work dominates the room: a bust of controversial American Beat poet, occultist, addict and omnisexual everyman William Burroughs.
As astronomer Carl Sagan said, “We are all made of star-stuff” – elements cooked up and dispersed by exploding stars – and the twinkling dust that Mother’s ghost (Gabriella Moran) strews about seems to imbue Burrough’s likeness with crotchety life. Burroughs is voiced by Jason Isaacs, apt casting given his forthright character, gravitas, prolific output (major roles in The Death of Stalin, Black Hawk Down, Star Trek and most of the Harry Potter series) and openness around addiction.
Speech-activated pulses of light beamed onto the Burroughs bust draw attention to his gnomic utterances, and Isaac’s American accent – growling, sneering and sardonic – is highly convincing. Stretching, arcing, dancing and smoking, Gabriella Moran emits a sense of 1960s freedom as Mother, clad in her purposeful, dusty overalls and tool belt.
It becomes apparent that Mother (reluctant to appear to Allen at the outset) has tasked the animated Burroughs bust with steering her son – pyjama-clad, whisky-swigging, and mired in post-mortem paperwork – back to happy, meaningful life. Allchurch manages to balance the endearingly hangdog sorrow he brings to Allen with bouncy physicality that provides glimpses of the character’s potential for experiencing joy.
Allen chats amicably with the bust, despite Burroughs’ bleak analysis of the youngster’s situation – “Shit. Deep shit.” – and berating, hard-talking tough love: “You’re limp; what happened to the fire in your belly?” Until Burroughs pushes too far and Allen tapes up his mouth.
There’s more abuse from Allen’s twin brother Jack (Gabriella Moran, again), back from Nepal, tattooed and braceleted, for the division of Mother’s effects. Jack instigates competitive press-ups and supposedly therapeutic breath work that’s more like Heimlich manoeuvring. They wrestle with sibling viciousness over Mother’s watch; Jack wins. Allen, cowed, complains that although they were born just minutes apart, their Father loved Jack more. He’s outraged that Jack has been spending time with their wayward patriarch.
The tick-tocking of Mother’s watch underlines the urgency of Allen’s situation. The studio premises are up for sale, jeopardising his tenancy. Burroughs urges radical action: “Shatter these statues and burn this house to the ground!” Smoke from tentative lighting of paperwork brings cute, sensible northern cop PC Dread to the scene, a delightfully terse performance from Leah Aspden. “Can I have your number?” asks Allen; “999”, she replies.
Aspden also doubles as the walking, stalking legs of Burroughs as she dons the bust to reconvene with Mother, dissatisfied at his progress as guardian Angel: “I gave you one job!”
Gabriella Moran likewise reappears as Allen’s father, a blustering, tweed-capped country gent, bringing Allen more unwelcome familial news. It’s clear that Allen wants to reject and embrace the paternal figure. Allen’s course spins uncontrollably at the behest of Burroughs – “Let go of this bureaucracy of death and embrace the freedom of life!” – initiating whirling chaos set to an ominous satanic score.
The resolution is amusing and uplifting, if a little rushed, capping a compelling couple of hours in witty company. Lost Watches is well-cast and soundly performed, has high production values, and is funny and touching in places.
But somehow, it’s insufficiently strange, unsettling and powerful to merit the billing ‘surreal’ and the inclusion of Burroughs as a spirit guide. The plot meanders and is tricky to follow at times. Having placed Burroughs at the heart of the action, there isn’t enough background on him or his connection with the other characters’ stories. Anyone unfamiliar with the author and his work will struggle to see his relevance.
Moran playing Allen’s mother, father and twin brother is also problematic: it takes a while to figure out who they all are. Early name-checks and the odd bit of facial hair might help.
The sculptural dust strewing is pretty and adds mystique, but also leaves audience members in the front rows frosted. Maybe chunkier glitter would fall more tidily onstage.
And while Jason Isaacs has Burroughs’ accent to a T, the sound quality of his projected voice doesn’t always allow for adequate comprehension. The dialogue with other characters occasionally degrades to overheard mobile call monologue.
There’s definite potential here, though, for the creation of a deeper, weirder and more profound experience.
Runs until 23 August 2025
