England

Writing a play about a heart transplant is not such an odd thing, partly because it brings to the fore such classic theatrical themes as physical and emotional suffering, the frictions of unavoidable change, and individual – as well as national – identity crisis. England explores all these areas, but with an unsettling abstraction that makes it positively unforgettable.

The first half introduces an ill English woman who is devoted to her successful art dealer boyfriend. Her lines are disjointed and the internal workings of the play are laid bare along with her character, like an x-ray or architectural drawing. The second half, set around a year later, is the fraught meeting of this character with the widow of her heart donor.

The actors demonstrate flawless control throughout, notably in their ability to remain fixedly unemotional despite the enormous power of the script. Their performances become a kind of un-acting, further exposing the rawness of the whole. Such concious stilting of emotions, alongside a conceit in the second half whereby the audience effectively plays the part of the widow, means that over the course of the hour, the audience undergo a theatrical heart transplant of their own. More than a neat trick, this viscerally off-kilter experience – tied into a tale of painfully real injustice - is exemplary of the kind of effect theatre should aspire to.