A Breakfast of Eels was published in 2015 by a 60-year-old playwright, Robert Holman. This fact feels fitting, as while Eels is set in the modern day and its two characters are both young, the play possesses a lived-in texture. It opens on a pair of English boys who are ostensibly both children and both brothers. They’re grieving the recent loss of ‘Daddy’, and preparing to attend his funeral. We gather ‘Daddy’ was a successful lawyer, owning the expensive Highgate home in which much of this piece is set, and that he raised rather articulate children. The pair’s junior, Penrose, adopts words like ‘remiss’, ‘profound’, and ‘gregarious’ to his vocabulary despite hopping around on one leg and refusing to get dressed. Flitty Penrose depends upon stoical Francis, querying him constantly, obeying his command, looking up to his every word. It echoes the fraternal dynamic of Peter and Edmund Pevensie in Narnia, and Ben and Gus in The Dumb Waiter, recalling familiar patterns within British dramatic writing.

“The deft, understated text is staged in a way that’s subtle, emotional, lived-in, and interesting”

What follows, however, is invigoratingly strange and refreshing. There’s an airy, liminal quality to the story, as this duo are depicted living somewhat lackadaisically, their days being spent tending to gardens, playing piano, or stuck in thought. The stagnancy allows a delicate, finely paced unfurling of their past through dialogue. It also curates a dreamlike aura, which means that when informational shocks appear, they hit harder. We soon learn all is not as it seemed. For example, Francis is not, in fact, Penrose’s biological brother, but the live-in gardener. We shortly after understand he is 14 years Penrose’s senior, and grew up in Northumberland. Further revelations about both of them are interwoven precisely, right up to the very end of the story, which layers the airy vibe with an impressive psychological, interpersonal density. In the second act, Holman creates some really striking moments by leaning into the strange nature of their true relationship, turning the tables between helper and helped constantly, and exploring the difficulties involved. It’s truly thought-provoking and an excellent choice for staging at an intimate venue such as the Corpus Playroom.

Director Andreas Marcou is granular in attention to detail and cohesive in vision. His choreography of actors doesn’t fear the stillness of conversation that dominates the play. Rather, he sets up choices which can sustain a scene, cleverly using levels and occasionally integrating props around which they can interact. He marries the technical mediums well. It’s clear from the very first moment, as the parcan lights dim and a muffled piano track – which had just about crept into discernibility during the preset – flourishes in volume and melody right on cue. All the technical choices, in fact, appear intentional without drawing attention to themselves. From Penrose’s comically ill-planned funeral blazer (at once oversized and too short on the cuffs) to Francis’s grey, loose-hanging cardigan in the final scene (signalling both age and vulnerability), Helen Lyster’s costumes brilliantly accompanied the text’s hints and obfuscations about age and maturity. Lighting designer Jasper Harris’s various onstage lamps add great dynamism, as they give warmth and realism to a scene set in a study, while also ominously framing a scene set outdoors, when dispersed towards the edges of the stage.

“Ultimately, what makes this production breathtaking are its utterly outstanding performances”

Ultimately, though, what makes this production breathtaking are its utterly outstanding performances. Francis may spend much of his time lost in himself, but Jaysol Doy interprets him with complete clarity. From his surveying the apples strewn in the garden to moments thumbing over old souvenirs, his physicality is gentle and careful, like that of an experienced carer. His pacing, gait, and posture all construct an appropriately calm demeanour, yet his eyes do so much to reveal inner turmoil – I actually found myself welling up with him as his glazed-over pupils followed the coffin carriage of Penrose’s deceased father. He also nails the Northumberland accent, stepping seamlessly into the character’s history.

Rafael Griso is a revelation as Penrose. He has a mountain of lines to deliver, and not once does he stumble or hesitate. On the contrary, it seems he knows this boy backwards. He embodies the unselfconscious movements of youth without appearing parodic. He imbues erratic monologues with direction and purpose in his sharp tonal choices. His earnest delivery, in particular, of the lines “To love. To be loved. Difficult things. To be a pupil. To be a teacher. To learn. Difficult things” made poignancy from abstraction in a stunning way that will stay with me. As time leaps between the narrative vignettes, he subtly matures the characterisation such that, by the final act, the worldly-wise young man Penrose becomes, feels earned and bookends the piece beautifully.

A Breakfast of Eels is simply a gem. The deft, understated text is staged in a way that’s subtle, emotional, lived-in, and interesting. The production rarely steps a foot wrong, and I can’t wait to see the dramatic projects its creators take on next.