![]() In her depiction, the character becomes a passionately angry and anguished young woman, in whom we might dare to see a little of Kane herself.Īlso captivating is Christopher Fulford's interpretation of 'A' his maturity lending a shifting sense of menace and vulnerability to the role, which perfectly captures the constant ambiguity of Kane's text. The most engaging performer, here as in 4.48 Psychosis, is Pearl Chanda, who gives an intense, tightly wired portrayal of role 'C'. Signe Beckmann's costume designs find exactly the right way to suggest, but not impose, character, and the actors do the rest. If anything, this movement is unnecessary, as Kane's language and the cast's delivery are all that is needed to maintain our rapt attention. ![]() The staging is simple: the four performers stand exposed in front of us, against a dull grey background, occasionally switching places in line. As they talk of love and hate, obsession and rejection, abuse suffered and abuse perpetrated, themes emerge and snatches of character and story are revealed, but in Kane's characteristic style, the play resists assuming any sort of clear narrative or set of relationships. Details: .The real strength of Charlotte Gwinner's production of Sarah Kane's Crave (being produced by Sheffield Theatres in conjunction with her accompanying production of Kane's 4.48 Psychosis) is its exquisite pace.įour voices speak, sometimes to each other, sometimes to us, but always with an urgency that is impossible to ignore. “I write the truth and it kills me”: Kane’s gift is to make us stare truth in the face so we might stay alive and start to mend. They are ordinary people like us, but perhaps also like the chorus from a Greek tragedy charting a world where love and despair, victims and abusers, bleakness and laughter co-exist and tip back and forth into each other. ![]() Gwinner’s revival of Kane’s penultimate play – paired in Sheffield Theatres’ Kane season with her last, 4.48 Psychosis, and sharing its cast and design – is simplicity itself: the actors stand in a line and face the audience. Indeed, it has a certain Biblical air, and there are apparent homages to TS Eliot’s The Waste Land and the stranded protagonists of Beckett’s plays, unable to move forward or back, doomed to forever repeat themselves in an unending loop. I’ve seen Crave produced in many ways, and a straightforward approach seems to suit it best, allowing its rhythmical, musical structure to surface: the four interlinking interventions and monologues reverberate and echo off each other, like lone voices crying in the wilderness and hoping desperately for some response. ![]()
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