Unique, profound, and beautifully raw. An experience that will stay with you
Kin at Oxford Playhouse is a unique show, performed in multiple languages, that moved most, if not all, of the audience in their own personal way through the story of immigrants and migrants. As an individual with no ear for languages, I missed out on the impact of all the various languages used, however I felt a different impact – a show where I felt I was missing something, confused, a little lost, but deeply confronted and helpless. This was one of the marvels of Gecko’s Kin, everybody’s journey was their own.
The show was a visual and musical sensation, with much of the journey being shown through carefully choreographed dance and gorgeous music. Another clever choice made with the story was the use of light. Throughout the show it is utilised in multiple ways, both as something the cast members pick up and move around and as something that exists out of reach. Light is an important part of the show, it symbolised safety and hope, but also confinement and captivity. With light comes shadow, which was also used, along with silhouettes. Other very clever staging decisions included the use of the stage turntable. It gave a sense of perpetual distance and the passage of time. Unfortunately, on occasion, due to the use of a highbacked chair, it meant some cast members were obscured at moments.
The puppetry was gorgeous, powerful, and deeply moving. Their involvement in the movement throughout the show gave the feeling of the ancestors that the characters kept close. They provided support and comfort, but also pulled the characters back to the past they were leaving behind and sometimes this led to painful memories. The white paint was similarly impactful. It told of the frequent requirement of immigrants to give up their identities to be accepted and given safety. The painful process of trying to gain entry and being turned away eventually chips away at a person, and so as a last resort it might not feel like much to give up everything else. The pain of being forced to cover your identity, and losing the last links of what you must leave behind was obvious.
My personal favourite storyline was the story of the soldier, played by founder and artistic director of Gecko, Amit Lahav. It was not merely the creation of the soldier that I found gripping, but where he ended up. Lahav’s soldier went to great lengths to try and say no to becoming the torturer, but eventually the torture he suffered became too much. He revelled in the power once he had settled into it, but occasionally a sympathetic audience member could interpret cracks. Despite all these awful choices that Lahav’s soldier had to make to try to survive and stay safe, he still ended up with everybody else: cold, scared, in a life jacket, and trying to stay in the boat. At the time, it reminded me of a line in Pastor Martin Niemöller’s poem First They Came, ‘then they came for me’, because despite everything this solider, and the others, had done to stay safe, they still ended up fleeing for their lives. In those final moments, the cast stepped forward and shared their stories with the audience before slipping back into the dance and continuing until the end. It allowed us to understand the individual person behind each role.
Kin is timeless and placeless (given the mix of languages, or to me the wall of near indistinguishable languages), and so had the ability to touch each audience member in a deeply personal way. The show can appear as any moment in history, or current era, and any geographical location or conflict.