Review: THE MOORS, The Hope Theatre

A governess packs up and moves to the desolate English moors to care for a child she'll never meet. Upon her arrival, she finds a household in the chokehold of a multitude of secrets. The dictatorial Agatha (Imogen MacKenzie), her little sister Huldey (Kenia Fenton), their elusive brother, and a philosophising dog haunt Jen Silverman's play, The Moors.

Phil Bartlett presents its British première with a sinister wink and eerie humour, but the text is a mismatch of gothic tropes and too unsure of its identity for the project to come together well. It's astonishing how the lack of focus in the narrative is as prominent as the precision of the direction and technical side of this production is.

The uncanny, atmospheric scenes where the main individual plots develop are overshadowed and led astray by The Mastiff's (Peter Hadfield) musings on the "pursuit of the ephemeral". He bemoans his mortal coil until he meets a moorhen (Matilda Childs). He gradually grows obsessed with her and - spoiler alert - he kills her. Dog eats dog - or rather, dog eats bird - in Silverman's highly outlandish, Brontë-inspired countryside that Bartlett imbues with rich Victorian glamour.

The company establish an unsettling feeling from the get-go with Julian Starr's creepy sound design. His organ extravaganza is the ideal fit for the haunted mansion vibe of Sophia Pardon's set. She plasters the Hope's black box with peeling wallpaper, while the wooden flooring of the stage is enclosed by bare gravel. The landscape engulfs the house and the exteriors are differentiated only by starker white lighting designed by Jonathan Simpson. The visual balance of the project is exquisite, as is Bartlett's vision.

His actors lie in wait, sitting with the audience with a ghostly Brechtian touch. They come on and off stage announced by an ominous aura. Meredith Lewis' Emilie starts off as a demure, good-willed tutor to her promised child. She is met by MacKenzie's imperiously icy stares and domineering presence alongside Tamara Fairbairn's perpetually inconvenienced and thoroughly delectable maid(s). Fenton gives an excitable, disturbing personality to young Hudley, who spends her days fictionalising her life pretending to be a famous writer.

The trio are joined by the most baffling, unnecessary anthropomorphic animal additions. Taken out of context, The Mastiff and The Moorhen's storyline is an allegorical tale that, according to Silverman's point of view, summarises the essence of the moors and the isolation of her characters. The Mastiff punctuates every scene change, arresting the plot and turning the show into a slog.

Hadfield and Childs make an appealing duo, but their parts don't add much. The time spent with this depressed dog and his makeshift therapist could be better employed exploring the queer narrative Silverman introduces but drops as a tragic manifestation of Stockholm Syndrome or the casual implied rape of their brother.

It's a shame that the original material falls short. Bartlett's eye is perfect for spooky season, but this play, unfortunately, is not the thing. Running at over two hours including a needless interval, it's too much of a quiescent, boring trudge that tries to be too many things at once.

The Moors runs at The Hope Theatre until 5 November.

Photo credit: Steve Gregson Photography

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