Clive offers us a window into a deeply relatable human condition, yet despite its stellar creative team, the story remains at arm’s length from its own potential.
Premiering at Arcola’s Studio 2, Clive gathers a team of stellar creatives and cast, including Olivier and BAFTA award-winning playwright Michael Wynne, acclaimed director Lucy Baily, and Two-time Olivier Award nominee Paul Keating. The story of Clive follows Thomas, a work-from-home man who keeps everything around him absolutely spotless. There are no other living beings in his space, apart from one—a cactus he calls “Clive,” whom he constantly talks to and seeks social connection from. As the story unfolds, the seemingly in-control environment around Thomas starts to break down, and how he responds to these situations becomes the central question of the play’s latter half.
The set and lighting design are black box theatre at its best. Thomas’ apartment is clearly an externalization of his personality and inner world. White floor, white cabinet, white table, white chairs—all mopped so thoroughly that the surfaces shine. The use of cabinets instead of plain walls functions perfectly for the practical needs of the production while suiting the character well. The lighting is brilliantly used, swiftly marking the passage of time while also mirrors the psychological state of the character over time.
The opening moment very clearly brings out what kind of a character Thoas is. He walks around his apartment and greets the audience (or Clive, to be more specific) in mopping shoes, disinfecting the floor — an action immediately revealing his need for control, his fragile edge, his clean-freak nature, and his hunger for connection. Yet, although Thomas’s character is sharply constructed, at times I wonder if it’s made too explicit. He often explains his choices and backstory directly to the audience. Yes, everything connects, but it also risks being too on-the-nose. All this exposition risks making him feel flat rather than complex.
The first thirty minutes don’t advance the plot that much but pave the way for the later buildup. Wynne’s writing was funny and deeply engaging. Thomas’s quarantine-like existence echoes many aspects of our own life—the longing for connection, leading him to peer at neighbors’ windows; the boredom that drives him to invent pointless tasks; the insecurity of isolation, overanalyzing every message, action, and attitude for hidden meaning.
While the first half works as a solid buildup, the latter half feels rather artificial. The climax seems forced—Thomas’s breakdown, though connected to earlier events, doesn’t feel earned. Most crucially, while many aspects of Thomas’ life echo our daily experiences (especially quarantine life), the story itself remains unrelatable to me. The problems and challenges he faces, though dramatized for the circumstances, still feel trivial. Despite the acting, lighting, and text working in sync to build toward the climax, the dramatic peak ultimately lands as artificially inserted and pushed.
Clive offers us a window into a deeply relatable human condition, yet despite its stellar creative team, the story remains at arm’s length from its own potential.