Writer: Martin McDonagh
Director: Matthew Dunster
Katurian Katurian has channelled adventurously dark thoughts into short stories, fables and parables all her life. She has put to paper what most of us would shudder to believe existed in the darkest patches of our minds, so is understandably nervous when the police in her totalitarian state drag her, unexpectedly, in for questioning.
This sets up a lengthy and maundering journey built on sharp dialogue, gratuitous descriptions of violence and zingy comedy which presents us with some difficult-to-locate messages about freedom of creativity and attitudes to responsibility. With the production backed by PEN International, the society dedicated to the freedom of writers and expression, there is a clear message of the supremacy of free speech – though less clarity internally in the play about why this should be the theme.
The rough interrogation of Katurian by detective Tupolski, and his number two, Ariel, reveals a series of murders of children that seem to have been inspired by her writing. No spoilers here, but in the twists (some great, some baffling) that lead us to a conclusion it seems that actually her writing was a major indicator in these murders. Free expression as a writer is well and good, but what’s actually being investigated and punished is real-world violence.
Exciting, inventive and charismatic performances from Paul Kaye as Ariel (a magnet for all eyes every second he’s on stage) and Steve Pemberton as Tupolski anchor the whole production. Lily Allen as Katurian, taking over from David Tennant who played the character in The Pillowman’s debut in 2003, is good throughout – level and calm, though with little sparks of protective energy whenever her brother or her work is threatened. As her brother, mentally scarred after experiencing horrific torture over many years, Matthew Tennyson is a lovely presence on stage, productively slowing us down a little and adding some consideration of more tender human impulses
Anna Fleischle’s intriguing set of the police interrogation room, a holding cell and various horror-movie aesthetic domestic settings adds to a grittily cinematic feel, complete with slow zoom openings to scenes, split-screen presentation and cutaways. The moods created, combined with Neil Austin’s atmospheric lighting, are highly effective. Matthew Dunster’s direction does help frame the copious amounts of words, the humour, and level of darkness in Martin McDonagh’s script, but by the end of the second half the energy and momentum is all but done.
McDonagh’s trademark inventiveness in storytelling and his dark edge are here in fine form and his playfulness in considering the nature of creativity and its forms is delightful. Desperately thrilling and gripping moments are sprinkled across the text, but are leavened by bouts of self-indulgence for the characters, and the writer. It all adds up to a confusing play that for all its highs and lows leave us feeling pretty level – not ideal after some of the testing content contained within.
Runs until 2 September 20223
The Reviews Hub Score
Darkly funny
