A cult disintegrates in its leader’s absence
The Practice opens with an inspirational speech: “you have the power to make yourself up”. Mark (Stephen Chance) is rehearsing a presentation written for the absent leader of The Harry Fischer Foundation, a cult-like group which believes you can achieve enlightenment by embracing the roles you play in life, carefully selecting which ones to embody and when. An interesting idea, but Fischer himself – philosopher, psychologist, spiritual guide – never appears onstage to advocate for it. Instead, the audience becomes a fly-on-the-wall for a series of increasingly chaotic meetings, where Harry’s followers slowly fall apart without his guiding presence. The Practice is scarily believable, weaving an intelligent tapestry of menace.
The intrigue comes from discovering how The Harry Fischer Foundation operates. The audience is dropped into a tangle of jargon and interpersonal relationships, left to piece together the rules. This uncertainty adds an effective creepiness to early scenes: Fischer’s followers believe that to be human is to play a series of roles, and that happiness lies in selecting a single role at a time. This lends a surreal tinge to every interaction, as the audience becomes increasingly aware that each ‘role’ has been chosen, and that there is an authentic person bubbling below the surface ready to break out.
The ‘practices’ of the title refer to exercises the group complete to solidify their roles. When in conflict, the followers put on blank white masks and assume a new role – they might argue the opposite sides of the argument they were just having, or both advocate for one viewpoint and then pivot to the other. Recalling Socratic argument, this hint of believability makes these scenes compelling – you can imagine people getting sucked into a cult exactly like this. The role-playing also works as a storytelling device, with various ‘practices’ revealing friction between group members, hushed-up scandals from the past, and unspoken secrets.
If the opening scenes are compelling as a result of trying to work out how the cult works, then the final scenes add in a healthy dose of political intrigue as the group collapses without its leader. The middle portion, however, loses its way in the absence of a solid throughline – instead, conversations seem to slide into one another without a clear narrative direction.
Where The Practice excels is in its vibe: a genuinely pervasive sense of unease. Much heavy-lifting is done by Deniz Dortok’s live score, a hallmark of The Deep Stage productions. Musical dexterity with the double bass sees Dortok scraping out a dissonant chord, beating a percussive rhythm, and rattling disconcertingly with a metal brush, adding a filmic quality to each scene. His music resonates around the intimate George Tavern theatre space, amplifying the claustrophobia of this series of meetings. The Practice is much more compelling for his efforts.
If the play has a message, it is likely that the human disagreement Harry’s followers are so keen to avoid is a necessary part of the social experience. But this theme would land more powerfully with an overarching plot to support the creeping dread and fractured conversations. It holds the same energy as a late-2000s Louis Theroux documentary, making it hard to turn your eyes away from the morbid fascination of seeing a modern-day cult at work. An intelligent script, strong casting, and innovative live score make for an entertaining evening.
The Practice plays at The George Tavern until 12th April, including a Friday matinee. Tickets can be purchased here.