The focus of the entire play was on Hugh Wyld (Frederick) and Holly Marsden (Miranda). The small, theatre could have worked in their favour, it could have reinforced a sense of discomfort and isolation and laid down the foundations for a deeply psychological drama or thriller. But it didn’t and at points the focus on the two actors did not work to their advantage. There was little sense of character or motive, which could have been intentional, but it didn’t work.  

The play has potential to be very provocative; there were interesting ideas about life, love, morality, art and time, but they weren’t reconciled with their medium. At one point Wyld asserts ‘Just because [he] can’t express [himself] doesn’t mean [his] feelings aren’t deep’; and in parts this is true of the play. The cast moved too quickly over contentious ideas about what we need ( from ‘real coffee’ and John Lewis rugs to fresh air and sunlight), about freedom and ownership, and human relationships. Instead spent time was spent running in and out of doors and jangling keys against a lock. They addressed the futility about obsessing over collecting and recording but despite the screaming and fighting, they didn’t attend to the sincerity or the violence of it. It didn’t seem real or surreal; it occupied a mediocre middle ground.

It improved around the third quarter. Up until then, that Wyld and Marsden didn’t quite understand what they were saying or why they were saying it. On what she believed to be the eve of her release, Marsden took off her dress and tried to seduce her captor; the humiliation and desperation seemed more believable at this point, as did the sheer madness of the situation. His angry refusal made a point about distance and putting women, art, objects of affection on a pedestal. From this point onwards, however, the play dragged again.

The most interesting things about this play (a camera flash in darkness, wondering whether or not there was a meaning behind the different colour dresses worn throughout) were the products of contemplative hindsight. I want to talk myself round but I didn’t enjoy this play. It was intriguing, but it seemed rushed, clumsy and stilted.