113, a brand new play by Ethan H. M. M., has a premise decidedly reminiscent of Charlie Brooker’s long-running Black Mirror series. Two people, known only as 64 (George Loynes) and 49 (Isobel Glover), begin without memories, trapped in bare-walled rooms. If, in what becomes a kind of leitmotif, they can only remember, they will be able to escape. Director Rio Rose Joubert sets the scene with a green-bathed stage and a masked, Squid Game-esque officer, and these first impressions only serve to confirm the dystopia which the play’s premise offers.
But really, this is a play driven by the two people we see before us. Loynes, as new inmate 64, gives an admirably frenetic and at times deeply discomforting performance; Glover, old hat 49, brings a soldierly discipline befitting her treasured dog tags. Throughout the play’s hour, we see them open up and grow vulnerable, each changed by the other. This mutual exchange is illustrated by writer Ethan H. M. M.’s clever use of echoed verbal tics between the characters.
Their connection is a thoroughly realistic one, despite the literal wall between them, which offers an interesting point of immersion for those audience members sitting on the far ends of the Burton Taylor, as the on-stage wall partially blocks their view of one of the two characters’ rooms. Given this set-up, one has to wonder how 64 and 49’s greatest moments of intimacy come across to those at either end of the studio.
The two also become progressively more unified on their compelling joint quests to remember, bouncing off each other and their scattered props to dredge up increasingly cohesive impressions of their past lives. Loynes has arguably the more complex material to work with in 64’s fraught familial relations, but, equally, Glover’s tattered clothes hint at 49’s more existentially troubling history. Uncovering that history is what they’re here for, and their progress is ably assisted by Sali Adams’ impressive turn as the multifaceted J. Doe. Doe, like the intangible angel choir that greets 64’s arrival, gradually develops the strangeness of the play’s opening into a classically dystopian examination of the role institutions should play in regulating the individual. The question of what, exactly, brought 64 and 49 to this place is kept in the audience’s minds by recurring strobe lighting: every time it flickers on and off, another act of memory erasure seems to take place, and our characters are left a little more confused.
113’s plot threads are aptly interwoven: the characters fulfill the play’s title just as the true nature of their rooms is revealed, and the play seamlessly switches focus from these characters’ pasts to their futures. Ethan H. M. M. has delivered a very successful piece of writing here, and it is no surprise to me that 113 has been selected for the National Student Drama Festival. Strong performances from each of the three cast members and a seamlessly executed contribution from the lighting, sound, and designers ensure that the Burton Taylor’s tighter space is no barrier to a thoroughly enjoyable evening. This is a play that should stick in the memory even if you one day find yourself in a situation like the one which greeted 64 and 49.
[113 is running at the Burton Taylor Studio, 6-10 May]