Orphans ★★★★

“I know a fucking Dead End Kid when I see one.”

Lyle Kessler’s compulsive opus Orphans has been revived by Al Miller at the Jermyn Street Theatre. In two halves coming in at just two hours (including interval), the play chews you up and spits you out, asking the question – how do we live as orphans? How do we respond to being left on our own?

Kessler’s trio of characters each offer a different response to this question. Phillip (Fred Woodley Evans) is a shut-in, surviving only on tinned tuna and mayonnaise, hiding all day long amongst his mother’s old coats. Woodley Evans plays Phillip with a kind of magnetic innocence; saint-like and earnest, he brilliantly captures the sense of a man stuck in perpetual early childhood – his development paralysed by the early loss of his mother. This is a tremendously confident performance, and one that works perfectly across from Treat (Chris Walley), Phillip’s brother.

Treat’s response to his orphanhood has been to hide his brother away, participating in his shut-in life as a kind of bodyguard and gaoler. Providing for them both through robbery, Treat is stuck in a perpetual adolescence – spiteful, capricious and with something of the wounded animal about him. Walley’s performance is exceptional; he brings a real vigour to the role that lends the piece an energy and momentum that keeps it hurtling along at pace.

The dynamic between these two is a real joy to watch. Comedic moments pierce through the dark as their distorted Pinky and the Brain-style double act manifests in the first part of the play – Treat’s adolescent cruelty sparking against Phillip’s earnestness. Both men are nearing their 30s, and we get a sense of their dynamic having been left unchanged as the years drifted by.

Until the arrival of Harold (Forbes Masson), a mysterious, suitcase-wielding stranger that Treat intends to rob, kidnap and blackmail. An orphan himself, Harold presents as the ultimate self-made man. A follower of Houdini and a possessor of worldly and underworldly knowledge, Harold quickly and comprehensively overturns the brothers’ world, showing them a new way to live. Masson puts on an absolute masterclass in nuance with this performance. All shades of dark and light are suggested in this ambiguous intruder as the play unfolds and his true intentions are made ever more clear. Slippery and solid, fatherly and full of threat, Masson’s Harold is both saviour and villain.

This is a particularly good production in which to see these exceptional performances because of the size of the venue. At only 70 seats, this is an extremely intimate space. The entire team must be lauded for their use of it. Sarah Beaton’s set manages to include two exits, a backlit window (used effectively throughout the play), a chair, a table, and a TV set, and to top it all off, the audience must literally cross the stage to go to the bathroom during the interval. Somehow, it remains completely convincing as an unkempt and neglected flat, despite the fact that one might have actually seen the backstage.

The small space also reveals excellent choreography and direction. The cast dance around the room, skilfully weaving upon the little floor space they have. Al Miller’s direction comes through in the consistency of the performances and the unscripted action beneath them. There is a real life here, with some excellent decisions being made.

One technical element that lets the show down is certain decisions relating to sound and music. They have opted for occasional sudden clips of music used for transitions that come across as incongruent and unnecessary. There is also the inclusion of a drone sound and some low dramatic stings that seem to be there to serve the purpose of raising the stakes in moments of less obvious dramatic tension or to heighten moments that are already there – in both cases, again, this feels unnecessary.

This play is a play that really lets its cast shine. In any three-hander, the challenge for a writer is two-fold: one must create a complete world and compelling stakes with only a few characters. Kessler has done this with grace and skill, creating a world that draws you in and stakes that keep you there. Miller’s deft hand and respect for the text make this a faithful and mesmerising revival.

If you’re in the mood for an intimate experience, standout performances, and evocative tragicomedy, Orphans is the one for you.