It’s not often that, during a theatrical performance, this reviewer’s ‘emotional cup’ literally overflows. Watching this play, Skeleton Crew, with one particular scene, was just such an occasion.
As you might have guessed, I am not referring to laugh-out-loud moments of sharp levity, sudden shards of quick-fire humour or even well-crafted social, inter-personal or cultural comedic set-ups – of which there are several examples in this play.
I am not even referencing instances where a production’s more dramatic situations – or lines of dialogue – might elicit empathetically charged feelings of sorrow, disgust, anger, rage (etc.).
Instead, I am talking about a slightly more ‘slow-burn’ effect, whereby the strength and clarity of the writing is aligned with the emotional and technical acuity of the performances – as well as the accessibility of the direction – to create a ‘perfect storm’; a moment of release that only the quiet shedding of a few tears may satisfy.
Usually, this heightened state of catharsis is elicited – by the creative teams – to coincide with the end of a play’s storyline. The fact that the scene which caused this reviewer’s emotional responses to react in this way occurred with over a half-hour of run-time, is a true indicator of the strength of what came before (certainly not a signifier of post-scene diminishment).
Set exclusively in the changing room of a large, Detroit car factory, it focuses on the specific concerns – and shared concerns – of four of its black employees.
’Faye’ (Pamela Nomvete) is the plant’s trade union representative. She is a 28-year veteran of the car-plant, and a no-nonsense believer in truth, fairness… and delivering sage advice. Alas, she herself has difficulty in sharing certain of her own secrets – or receiving wise counsel from others – once they’re uncovered.
She has known ‘Reggie’ (Tobi Bamtefa) for many years. Indeed, it is through her long-term friendship with his mother – and her gentle coaxing – that he now enjoys the position of foreman. His respect and admiration for his elder is pointed and clear; just as his workplace loyalties become frayed, once rumours of redundancies abound.
‘Dez’ (Branden Cook) and ‘Shania’ (Racheal Ofori) represent the younger members of the workforce. She is heavily pregnant, with seemingly more belief in – and connection to – her workplace role than to the relationship with her soon-to-arrive baby’s father. His attention is split between the restrictive necessity of the present-day factory floor, and the unbridled freedom that his future ambitions represent. He also seems pre-occupied with whether or not he will be able to reach those dreams; shackled, as he is, to the violent realities of the inner-city streets.
It’s almost as if we are flies on the wall, witnessing the gossip, informal chatter and locker-room banter that makes up the pre – and post – shift conversations between colleagues within a working factory environment.
Indeed, the strength of this production lies in the solidness of the world that the characters inhabit, and the nuanced believability of their interactions. The connection – as well as the need for (and use of) space – between each character is elegantly written and lovingly played.
One of the characters suggests ‘enjoying the silence’, when another insists on playing music on the radio; it is certainly a ‘sound suggestion’.
This sense that the space between the notes is just as important as the superb lines of dialogue themselves, is what helps to elevate this seemingly mundane tale of urban survival. That, and the wonderful cast of creatives – all luscious instruments, exquisitely played.
Designer Ultz, Lighting Designer Ciarán Cunningham, Composer/ Sound Designer Nicola Chang and Voice/ Dialect Coach Aundrea Fudge (among others) deserve credit for their sterling work. The incidental music – essayed via the canteen/ locker-room’s ghetto blaster – includes classic Aretha, Herbie Hancock and J. Dilla tracks, and is as evocative as it is effective.
Ultimately, director Matthew Xia superbly complements writer Dominique Morisseau’s wonderful source material by astutely allowing ‘the silence’, itself, to direct our thoughts and emotions. Perhaps that’s what kept me on the edge of my seat before pushing me over the edge.
Need to know: Skeleton Crew plays at the Donmar Warehouse until 24 Aug 2024
