Review Roundup: THE HUMAN VOICE, Starring Ruth Wilson

Two-time Olivier Award-winner Ruth Wilson stars in The Human Voice - the searing story of a woman's heartbreak over the course of a final phone call with her former lover.

Reunited with groundbreaking director Ivo van Hove (A View From The Bridge, Network) for the first time since their acclaimed Hedda Gabler, Ruth Wilson (The Affair, Mrs Wilson, His Dark Materials) returns to the West End for 31 performances only in this explosive reimagining of one of theatre's greatest roles. The show is playing at London's Harold Pinter Theatre.

Let's see what the critics had to say...

Debbie Gilpin, BroadwayWorld: It's a poignant choice of subject matter on one hand, however a 70-minute monologue of a woman having a nervous breakdown over a man leaving her is rather exhausting fare in 2022; women can do things other than pine after men, after all. Had it been adapted by a woman, rather than van Hove, perhaps it would have at least sounded a bit more realistic - as it is, it's painfully clear (without consulting any programme or show notes) that a man has once again botched an attempt at writing a female character. The source material shows its age, here. It would actually be more interesting to see a male character grapple with this emotion and vulnerability, as this is far from a well-trodden path.

Nick Curtis, Evening Standard: Not even Ruth Wilson's limpid talent can breathe life into this dated, 70-minute solo show, in which a woman goes to pieces discussing the end of an affair with her unheard lover over the phone. Jean Cocteau wrote it in 1928 as a simple showcase for an actress's range, and it's been done on stage by Ingrid Bergman and Liv Ullman, adapted into an opera by Poulenc and a film by Almodovar, among others.

Arifa Akbar, Guardian: Ruth Wilson, as a spurned lover dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a Tweety Pie top, variously underplays and over-eggs her character's suffering. There are cringing moments of overt theatricality when she imitates the couple's dog, hugs her lover's shoes and mimes frenzy, sometimes with added dance moves, in musical interludes featuring Beyoncé and Radiohead. There is one painfully passive moment when she is pinned to the wall, her back to us, while we listen to Radiohead's How to Disappear Completely, from beginning to end, which not only brings tedium but also gives the dehumanised impression of a dead insect caught on fly-paper.

Clive Davis, Times: There was a time, not so long ago, when every other West End play seemed to be creeping towards the three-hour mark. Now, in the first glimmerings of the post-Covid dawn, things are heading in the other direction. You can see why producers want to play safe, especially when first nights are still being postponed due to illness. Occasionally, though, it feels as if modest works that would make an acceptable hors d'oeuvre are being served up as rather expensive main courses.

Caroline McGinn, TimeOut NY: I have a massive crush on Ruth Wilson and would happily watch this twice Olivier Award-winning actress read a shopping list. But Ivo van Hove's weird, monochrome production of a weird, monochrome play, cuts her off from the audience behind a massive glass picture window, literally boxing her in so it's very tough to make an emotional connection. It looked like an incredible acting masterclass might have been happening behind the glass but I just wasn't feeling any of it. And when someone's breaking apart, suicidal and barking like a dog, you need to feel the feelings. Also - in prime stall seats - the angle to look at it was a bit odd, with the actress raised up and quite far back.

Sam Marlowe, iNews: Wilson grapples impressively with the material. Brittle with misery, hunched in sweats and her ex's old cardigan, she ricochets between resignation, rage and agony, her shaky pretence that she's a stereotypically "strong woman" who can just stream some Beyoncé, square her shoulders and move on belied by the terrified desperation that repeatedly disrupts the stream of romantic banalities she clings to. "Single Ladies" is drowned out, twice, by Radiohead's "How To Disappear Completely": it's clear which of the woman's impulses is winning.

Alex Wood, WhatsonStage: Where the choices are being made, some of them are fantastic (one moment, where Wilson sits like an abandoned marionette doll for multiple minutes, is particularly audacious). Others are bewildering (we won't tarry too long on a Miley Cyrus performance). The show has been labelled monochromatic - which feels unjust - the way in which Jan Versweyveld's design brings ice-cold, desaturated white light across to a warm glow on a single canvas proves how, even in the heat of a break-up, the cold reality of the next morning can bite.

Aleks Sierz, Arts Desk: Wilson plays her part to perfection, a masterclass in control and variation. At every moment, you know what she is thinking and feeling, from calm self-deception to wild hysteria. The passage when she acts out her fear of the neglected dog is stunning, as is the sense of her psychological disintegration under pressure. Every gesture tells its own story. This is not only about the human voice, but also about the human body in all of its sufering and pain. And Wilson gives an utterly covincing reading of a person's journey from brave face to sheer despair. Yes, this overwhelmingly moving performance is a great 70 minutes of theatre - believe the hype.

Franco Milazzo, Londonist: Van Hove's direction is generally nothing to write home about here but there's a saving grace metaphorically (and literally) at the death: for what feels like no more than a split second, we see Wilson standing on the window ledge, traffic noises coming from down below, her arms outstretched and the wind blowing through her gorgeous blue Dee Sheehan dress, a slight smile on her lips just before the theatre cuts to black.

Holly O'Mahoney, Culture Whisper: While let down by here by some uninspiring direction, Wilson - who TV audiences may know from her performances in His Dark Materials, Luther and Jane Eyre among other titles - delivers an impressive, naturalistic performance as She, flitting eerily between her positive phone face and moments of mental unravelling. This switch is most stark in an early scene, where we watch her cheery demeanour shatter as she detaches herself from the phone to cradle a pair of her ex-lover's shoes.