Richard’s Nelson’s monologue, written for Paul Jesson to perform, is a meditation on life and death, the theatre and what it means to be an actor. Beginning at Waterloo train station, he takes us with him on a romantic train journey to the West Country to visit an old friend for the weekend, but also through his life’s memories.
Alone onstage, the Actor (Jesson) shares his past with us, as if we were his old friends. He talks of his career, illness, ageing, his partner Michael – a fellow thespian who recently passed away – and the experience of living with overwhelming grief. The play is packed with reflections and feels like a gentle stream of consciousness. But, though Nelson’s writing includes countless references to drama, Shakespeare and the stage, his play feels more like a live reading of a novel.
Directed by Clarissa Brown, the play has an staggering sense of stagnation. Scenes blend into one another, without any sense of change. Even at just over an hour, Jesson’s contemplations feel swollen beyond their means. The stage design by Rob Howell is a collection of curtains draped over chairs that appear to have no connection to Nelson’s words.
Most of the play feels like elegiac chat. The actor is content with his life, but uncertain about his future. Questions over the purpose of art hang unanswered. Tales of years gone by are dropped into the script, without any solid reason. Although Jesson is a calming, tender onstage presence, the evening borders on the edge of becoming self-indulgent. Yet occasionally, within the sea of floating ideas, Nelson’s play reveals an aching sparkle.
When the Actor speaks of his years with Michael, his absence is stark. In each story he features, we feel his character oozing with life. Without him, the actor is now almost invisible. At its best, Nelson’s play deals with loss and how we can never quite comprehend its feeling. It is just a long ride before we get to its warm core.
• At Hampstead theatre, London, until 11 May
