Review: LEAVES OF GLASS, Park Theatre

Very few plays that are deemed "modern classics" when they debut, end up actually becoming one. Sixteen years after its premiere at Soho Theatre (which starred Maxine Peake and Ben Whishaw), Philip Ridley's Leaves of Glass is a modern classic in the sense that the plot deals with ever relevant issues, but the writing overlooks its potholes and leans into tropes. Director Max Harrison takes the play and makes it a contemporary exploration of unaddressed trauma, gaslighting, and complicated family relations with performances that scrape excellence once they settle into themselves.

Something happened in Steven and Barry's childhood and neither of them is able to speak about it. After their dad's "accident", Steven grew up too fast and Barry got stuck in an endless cycle of alcohol and wasted artistic potential. Their mother is equally avoidant and silence has nestled between them. Ridley untangles the (predictable) mystery that haunts this broken household of his through Steven and Debbie's pregnancy.

The four-hander comes to life after a few initial hiccups. With the characters being quite hedgehog-like, Harrison places the story on a tonal swing, heightening the comic exchanges to mitigate the bleakness that surrounds them. Joseph Potter's Barry starts off a bit overdone and overly jumpy against Ned Costello's poised approach as Steven. He is waspish and artificial until he eases into the role and finally delivers a coup that makes all the dominoes cascade around him. On the other side, Costello gives a refined, bitter performance. He is increasingly haunted as his resentment resurfaces, straying from sibling rivalry and tipping into needless childish cruelty.

They're joined by a stunning Kacey Ainsworth as the fierce matriarch of the emotionally repressed clan. A headstrong mother with unhealthy methods of self-preservation, she refers to her child's bouts of violence (or alcoholism, it's unclear) as a "fluey bug thing". The same virus used to affect her husband, whom she'd banish to the shed and who would do despicable, unmentionable things to Steven in the seclusion of the place. The catalyst comes in the shape of Debbie, Steven's wife. Ridley entrusts her with relieving the tension for most of it, but hides a deeper significance in her presence. Katie Buchholz brings bona fide sit-com timing to the humorous scenes, but turns into the key to the family's emotional circumvention and inability to communicate smoothly.

Running at one hour and 50 sans interval, the play truly gets into gear at its midpoint, which is also where the performances step into their full potential. While the first part tiptoes around the subject matter, hinting at some big conspiracy while the characters seemingly gaslight each other relentlessly, the second climaxes in a confrontation between the brothers. This leads to irreversible damage. Harrison metaphorically builds a pipe bomb in a candlelit cellar. Darkness swallows them whole. The piece finally comes into itself, questioning the very definition of truth. Memories are presented as the fluid product of one's experience, which is what ultimately shapes one's reality. It's worth the wobbly start.

Once it relaxes into its genre and intent, Leaves of Glass is a greatly nuanced family tragedy. Designer Kit Hinchcliffe contains the action on a rectangular area; he fences the space with black benches, while the slightly reflective dark flooring adds a surrealist aura to Alex Lewer's lighting. The story becomes suspended in time. It's a challenging, thought-provoking show that basically spells out how not to deal with grief.

Leaves of Glass runs at the Park Theatre until 3 June.

Photo credit: Mark Senior

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