A dysfunctional relationship falls apart during the COVID lockdowns
Everyone’s COVID lockdown experience was different: some relished the opportunity to spend more time with their families; others panicked at the uncertainty of having lost a stable income; many suffered the loss of a loved one. For Anne (Kacey Ainsworth) and Don (Liam Tobin), lockdown means isolating together, and their relationship isn’t a pretty one. As their lives shrink to contain just one another, an already troubled dyamic spirals downwards. Previously energetic banter morphs into genuine malice, and simmering in the background are the rising death toll and a very real uncertainty about humanity’s future.
Neither Anne nor Don is particularly easy to like: he weaponises incompetence to get what he feels entitled to, whilst she uses the fact she makes the most money as a weapon at every opportunity. Both hold onto grudges, letting them ferment into bitterness. It’s a testament to James McDermot’s sharply observed writing (and engaging onstage performances) that you end up rooting for them anyway. There’s a wonderful humanity to this couple; a spiky one for sure, but humanity nonetheless.
Told as a series of domestic vignettes – arguing over what to watch on television, discussing what colour to paint the living room – Jab is given shape by the nightly death toll announcements rumbling from the television. At the start of the lockdowns, the couple seem to always be either bickering or dancing (and sometimes both at once!), but as things get more serious in the outside world their relationship collapses. The show’s title could refer either to the increasingly personal barbs thrown across the living room, or the prospect of a vaccine that Don is powerfully skeptical about. Ainsworth in particular sears with anger, landing devastating argument-winning lines. She’s a case study in how seemingly insignificant moments can fester below the surface of a relationship.
Jab is certainly not a comedy, and earlier scenes attempting to strike a light-hearted tone fall a little flat – this couple hate one another a bit too convincingly to be funny. But as a drama they are compelling, capturing the essence of being utterly normal people at such an utterly abnormal time. This juxtaposition of mundanity and apocalyptic news items evokes the early COVID lockdowns perfectly, bringing back memories of huddling around the nightly briefing, and hushed talk of emergency hospitals and ventilator shortages. Excellent sound design enhances this resonance, cutting through any remnants of cosiness with a shrill note of menace.
Some areas could be developed, however. Performing so much of the show sitting or lying down is a bizarre choice for the low rake of the Park90, leaving the audience craning their necks at pivotal scenes. An important COVID test reveal is easy to miss if you don’t know where to look, sapping its dramatic effect. Whilst the drama is enrapturing, it takes a while to spin up and neither Anne nor Don are particularly pleasant company while it does.
But once it gets into gear, Jab is an incredible piece of theatre. By exploring domestic life during lockdown, it is at once an important historical record and gripping kitchen-sink drama. Incredible writing, sharp observations and strong performances ensure both of these aims are achieved powerfully. This is what theatre is made for: an important, profound, and intimate experience that matters, and an arresting portrait of a time many are still processing.
Jab plays at the Park Theatre until 26th April, with Thursday and Saturday matinees. Tickets can be purchased here.