Anne longs for 23-year-old son Nicholas to return home. One night, he appears. Or does he? Welcome back to the queasily elliptical world of Florian Zeller, where certainty fractures as familiar elements are repeated, dissected, made strange and menacing. Zeller used this immersive dislocation to powerfully communicate the experience of dementia in The Father, which last year travelled from Theatre Royal Bath to the Tricycle and into the West End. This earlier 90-minute piece, on the same path, lacks The Father’s shattering focus and lyrical subtlety, but, thanks to Christopher Hampton’s textured translation and the sure hand of Laurence Boswell, effectively addresses parental depression in a similarly dreamlike fog.
- RT @zack_akers: "The golden shrines placed at the altar of the gods we create for ourselves in the void of any meaning are as pointless as… 1 hour ago
- @jessiecath Enjoy! 8 hours ago
- Did a Word update and everything's now (maddeningly) in a slightly different place. Feel like someone's rearranged… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 8 hours ago