Review: THE POLTERGEIST, Arcola Theatre

Sasha and his partner Chet are getting ready to attend his niece's 5th birthday. At Flynn and Niamh's house - Sasha and her brother's childhood home - spirits are high and the "brats" are having the time of their lives on the new trampoline, but the couple tiptoe around Sasha. His resentment towards her brother and his wife is only diminished by the weight of the expectations that surround him.

An enfant prodige of the art world, he has grown into a shadow of himself. Between the ignorant but eager effusions of Dougie's curiosity and Niamh's dementia-ridden dad, the reason behind Sasha's failing career comes to light. Things go awry, ornaments break, but everything is ultimately saved by the unrelenting love and understanding of Sasha's inner circle.

Philip Ridley writes an atomic bomb of a play and keeps his finger on the release button until Sasha explodes in an earth-shaking climax. Social niceties and typically British politeness masquerade a coarse, brash internal monologue whose quick quips are absolutely annihilating and, frankly, indecently amusing.

Sasha is a stone-cold observer and commentator of reality as it develops around him, which allows him a grasp on the manipulation of his interlocutors. He anticipates people's reactions to the second, counting down from his own. His soliloquy (and therefore Ridley's piece) is definitely self-serving. The Poltergeist lies in the realm of the poor-me's, but Joseph Potter turns it into a surprising exploration of the cognitive dissonance of the upper middle class.

His character despises Flynn's seemingly perfect family life where everyone is overly nice and supportive. His perception of the world grates against Chet's sweet reciprocations and Niamh's welcoming personality. Potter gives a full-bodied, all-consuming performance. After simmering for an hour, he blows up into smithereens.

Wiebke Green directs him in a mesmerisingly balletic production that solely relies on the actor. There's no set dressing, very little lighting design (Chuma Emembolu), and no cues for Potter to grip onto. He delivers an embittered artist who has the tendency to get wrapped up inside his own head and finds peace in celebrating art around him.

Colours are never simply colours, they become lists of hues and gradients as specific as his encyclopaedic and chronological knowledge of the artistic movements of the 20th century. While Potter edges towards madman territory with his lightning speed changes in character, he takes stock every time Sasha's buried trauma is poked.

The frenzy in the waspish exchanges with himself is juxtaposed by moments of utter stillness that resound with poignant sobriety. The run-up to the actual core of the show coul be trimmed in order to expand on the traumatic events that made Sasha the man - and artist - he is, but, as it is, it builds momentum.

The Poltergeist is a jarring examination of our relationship with memory and trauma and how it correlates to the creation of art. Sasha might not be a relatable character, but Ridley makes his coping mechanisms a universal experience.

The Poltergeist runs at the Arcola Theatre until 29 October.

Photo credit: Matt Martin

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