A warm but occasionally over-explained meditation on waiting, buoyed by the easy chemistry of Steve Furst and Gary Wilmot.
Waiting doesn’t seem to be an intrinsically interesting event, yet in Gary Wilmot’s playwriting debut, he imbues the liminal activity with joy and sincerity. With only a bench, a few crates, a record player, and a big yellow door for company, Steve Furst and Gary Wilmot fill out the stage, and the 90 minutes of waiting with philosophical queries, dance numbers, and existential confrontations.
Entering the space expectantly, Furst as the gentlemanly Mulberry rings the bell of the door and settles in to wait for as long as it might take, remarking ‘waiting is my favourite hobby.’ He seems perfectly content to be left alone in wait until the rumpled Bix (Wilmot) stumbles across the stand-alone yellow door, noting that it is ‘bigger than expected.’ Sydney Stevenson’s direction is simple and effective, playing to the strengths of the thrust stage. She’s rightfully let the chemistry between Wilmot and Furst shine.
Now, we can’t pretend the concept of staging waiting is novel. It’s easy to look to Beckett’s 1953 play Waiting for Godot for inspiration, though where Beckett finds tension in stillness, Wilmot fills the silence with songs, jokes, and genial reflection. At times, Wilmot seems hesitant to leave meaning in the air, spelling out ideas that might have landed more strongly if left unsaid. The
cyclical jokes turn pedantic as they contemplate the nature of being, but Wilmot and Furst carry the energy of the piece with seasoned hands.
The design lends a hand to the play’s absurdist nature. Hannah Danson’s set is full of warmth and possibility. Leading us to feel as if we’ve landed in some desert oasis, underlined by the repeated underscoring of upbeat Latin music (Sound design by Isaac Bernier-Doyle), the entrance of Mulberry in a fully tweed suit with a canopy-less umbrella feels adequately absurd. Wilmot’s Bix, seems more at home in his linen jacket and wrinkled trousers. The lighting by Simon Jackson is simple and comforting, however, the interludes of stark lighting shifts with surprising sound effects of what might represent scene breaks or demonstrating the passing of time broke the momentum of the piece and seemed to even confuse the actors onstage.
An evening of waiting ends in a surprising encore, just as the piece appears to have reached its conclusion. After ninety minutes of philosophising over the perfect denouement, the extra beat may feel like a playful trick from the playwright to keep the audience on their toes. Though it lands slightly lacklustre, it ultimately provides a more grounded and sincere closing note than the faux ending that precedes it. While the script occasionally overstates its ideas, Wilmot and Furst’s easy rapport and steady charm ensure the wait remains, for the most part, a pleasant one.
While They Were Waiting will be performing at Upstairs at the Gatehouse until 22nd of March.
Author: Emily Hawkins