More Life – Royal Court, London

Writer: Lauren Mooney

Director: James Yeatman

Luigi Galvani’s discovery that passing electric currents through dead animals would cause them to twitch and convulse as if alive was the start of understanding how the body and brain interact. It was also the catalyst for a new breed of Gothic horror, most notably Frankenstein.

More Life, the newest work by Lauren Mooney and James Yeatman (aka devised theatre company Kandinsky), wears its homages to Mary Shelley’s work with pride. If a prologue in which the six-strong cast relates some of Galvani’s work on the corpses of hanged men was not clue enough, its main story, a futuristic tale of a form of reanimation, is led by an obsessive scientist named Victor (Marc Elliott).

In 2075, Vic and his team have managed to take brains from the dead and slice and dice them sufficiently well to download the deceased’s identity in the form of a computer program. He is attempting to upload those programs into new, robotic forms. After several unsuccessful attempts (the first of which is called Eve, a nod to Frankenstein’s Adam), he is luckier with Bridget.

Even then, Bridget’s program takes a few attempts to accept life in a robotic body. In these early attempts, Alison Halstead combines a rigid, calm exterior with a growing sense of panic. Her physical dysmorphia, as someone who is used to autonomic functions such as breathing and being aware of one’s own heartbeat struggles in a synthetic body that has no need for such things, sells the whole concept.

In such moments, More Life is at its strongest, giving Elliott the meatiest material to play with as Vic struggles to find the right level of compassionate delivery to help Bridget cope with her new environment. The juxtaposition with his callousness in wiping “Bridget” and replacing the robot’s consciousness with a new copy of the program makes for a complex, layered character.

That’s balanced, especially in the first act, with some comedic touches, especially as the rest of the cast, still acting as the play’s Greek chorus, debate which SF tropes will form the 2075 landscape. Sky roads, neon skylines and a world devastated by climate change are debated. It’s a fun poke at the genre, but ultimately irrelevant, as the key relationship between Bridget and her world is the play’s driving storyline.

Matters get complicated when Bridget’s husband, Tim McMullan’s Harry, is called upon to witness this new version of his wife from 50 years previous. This focuses on a new familial dynamic, especially since Harry has long since been remarried.

The second act concentrates on this odd triangle as Bridget escapes Vic’s facility and hides out with Harry and his second wife, Davina (Helen Schlesinger). Here, the Gothic horror gives way, becoming more of a weird comedy of manners instead. When your house guest has no need to eat, and the hosts have chips installed that tell them what foods to eat to maintain their good health, it throws into focus just how much importance we place today on bonding over meals.

There are elements here that hint at a larger story. Tales of the wealthy capitalising on medical advancements at the expense of those who cannot afford such procedures are not new. Nor is the suggestion that the relentless pursuit of prolonging human life may erode what joy there is in the now. More Lifeadds itself into such a canon of work without really extending it.

That is a shame because its presentation is impressive. Shankho Chaudhuri’s set of orange shelves with oddly angled interiors is both adaptable and disorienting, especially when combined with Ryan Joseph Stafford’s detailed lighting. Musical compositions by Zac Gvi further add to an environment that succeeds best when it embraces Gothic horror.

Maybe More Life attempts to do too much. It flirts with Gothic horror, especially in the Act I finale, and the personal and business relationships in Act II open up strands that one wishes could be explored further. Like Vic in his first attempts to revive Bridget, it is so nearly there, but not quite.

Continues until 8 March 2025