★★★★✰
CW: Suicide
Premieres of new writing are exciting events: you truly never know what will unfold when you step inside the theatre. There’s the hope of something fresh, something striking from a different perspective. And with all that considered, The Animal Kingdom did not disappoint.
From the mind of writer Ruby Thomas—and the directorial vision of Lucy Morrison—comes a rich exploration of family attachments, traumas, and healing. The Animal Kingdom invites us to learn how to listen and how to be heard, whilst pulling back the curtain on mental health’s familial influences. The cast of five strong actors weave a captivating narrative, embodying genuine and recognisable characters, who wrap their emotions around each other like strings. Right the way through to the play’s end, an intricate web of stories, relationships and catharsis is pieced together.
We open to student Sam (played by Paul Keating) mid-treatment at a facility for mental illness, after an apparent breakdown and suicide attempt. Sam’s mother, father and sister have been called upon for six sessions of therapy, led by therapist Daniel (Paul Keating), whose passive presence stabilises the less-than-nuclear family.
Hampstead Theatre’s Downstairs studio offers the perfect staging for this fly-on-the-wall play, where every flinch and glance is on display. The audience are not-so-secret observers, indulging in unabashed eavesdropping. In fact, one of this play’s main attractions is that it gives you permission to be nosy. Who doesn’t like a little bit of nosiness?
Time zips onwards, as the family engage uniquely with Sam’s circumstances. Eccentric mum Rita (Martina Laird) fills any gap with non-stop heady chatter, whilst stony-faced dad Tim (Jonathan McGuiness) opts for disconcerting silence. Younger sister Sophie (Ashna Rabheru) is pitifully left as an after-thought. But what’s so engaging, is that with each passing minute and session the family dynamic shifts.
These jumps forward in time are marked with a buzz and a flash of the overhead lighting, which was perhaps too subtle an effect and not immediately clear. Other production elements were more successful, such as the five chairs in a rough circle, which become imbued with significance. Who sits where, and when, becomes a point of fascination.
And there is comedic lightness, too. Humorous moments are generously scattered throughout, mostly created by the audiences’ connection to the characters. We are in on the inside jokes, laughing knowingly and thinking ‘how typical’ whenever Rita talks too much or Tim gives a one-word response.
The drama of hereditary trauma is expertly crafted—so the patched together theme of Zoology (Sam’s favourite subject) feels like an unnecessary add-on. The odd line or reference to animals, which lends this performance its title, feels little more than an endearing quirk. It does not sink into the fibres of the play.
Every other element clutches the audience, holding the full attention of the room. And thanks to the strength of the whole cast and production team The Animal Kingdom lingers on. A conversation is started: how do we cope, or how do we pretend to cope?
The Animal Kingdom will run at Hampstead Theatre until 26 March.
Words by Jessica Saunders
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