Review: 23.5 HOURS, Park Theatre

Leigh’s husband was arrested for inappropriate sexual conduct with a minor. A teacher once loved by students and parents alike, he’s now out of prison and facing the casualties of his violent fall from grace.

Playwright Carey Crim explores the effects of these serious allegations on the ones who surround the accused, viewing the aftermath of the crime mostly from Tom’s family. As Leigh tries her best to protect their son and stand by her spouse, her faith in him falters. Is he really capable of what he’s been charged with? Far from an easy watch, this is a thought-provoking and provocative piece of theatre.

The characters start off as an unnerving bunch of people. Thankfully, it gets better. Crim’s fast-paced dialogue supports a plunge into the depths of the grey area between reality and truth. Tom maintains he’s innocent, his wife wants to believe him. Her friend Jayne keeps her distance once he’s back out, but his best mate Bruce (also an educator and married to Jayne) blindly trusts his judgement. Ultimately, how sure can you be of someone’s innocence? How well do you - and can you - know a person? We witness the implosion of a family because of the narcissistic actions of a man.

Director Katharine Farmer helms a production that’s gutsy and disturbing, but features some silly exchanges and equally baffling circumstantial humour. It’s not a perfect play, but it does what it’s meant to do. Lisa Dwan gives everything she has, manifesting Leigh’s internal battle in a harrowingly physical performance. The title comes from a speech she gives to David Sturzaker, her husband: she believes him all day long except for half an hour, when doubt creeps in and her mind wanders towards the worst case scenario she can picture.

She has good reasons for this, and we’re surprised she only distrusts him so little. But Dwan goes beyond the spoken word, her whole body rejects Tom. Though she spends a lot of time frazzled and breathy, sometimes overacting and overreaching, her act comes together as she shatters towards the end. It’s emotionally tragic. She becomes one of those figures you want to grab by the shoulders and give a good shake to.

Sturzaker delivers the quiet portrayal of a man who truly believes he’s been wronged by the world. The aftermath of spending years in prison is evident in the playwright’s flourishes, but he prefers to introduce the person Tom was beforehand. His problematic side comes out in his friendship with Jonathan Nyati’s Bruce. That’s where the subtext comes in and shows that, yes, unfortunately, it is indeed “all men”. If they’re not the perpetrators, they’re the ones protecting or enabling them. It would be easy to dismiss these conversations as “locker-room banter”, and many might, but what’s being said about literal children is alarming and probably reflects what’s being said in real life.

Jayne sees this and fearlessly calls out every inch of predatory behaviour. Allyson Ava-Brown plays a clear-headed and righteous woman whose best interest lies in the pair of high school-aged daughters she’s raising with her husband. She pleads with Leigh, begging her to see the facts from the outside, not just as the accidental victim of preying articles and worrying TikToks. 

The actual tragedy lies with Tom and Leigh’s son, Nick. Jem Matthews is remarkable as the striking example of an emotionally disenfranchised youth. 23.5 Hours hits so hard because it doesn’t present an outlandish picture of abuse or a creepy groomer; these are our neighbours, our friends. It opens up a startling discourse, especially because Crim never solves the mystery regarding Tom’s actions. It’s an average family with a pretty home (Carla Goodman made some solid interior design choices) and a normal life. He’s a teacher, she’s a nurse. Their child is (well, used to be) a good-natured, well-adjusted student. When did it all go wrong? The writer suggests everything might have been wrong all along. 

Read Director Katherine Farmer's guest blog for BroadwayWorld here.

23.5 Hours runs at the Park Theatre until 5 October.

Photo credits: Charles Flint