The Departure is an immersive pendulum batting between repressed British stoicism and a desperate search for human connection and understanding, found in whoever will listen.
I’ve never taken the time to fully appreciate government hold music. The catchy guitar twang, the funky breakbeat drums almost reassure you that maybe the situation you’re in isn’t too bad? The cold, automated consolation of being told ‘your call is important to us’. Taking our seats in the dimly lit Alphabetti Theatre, a semi-clothed Ross awaits a human voice at the end of the phone to secure his passport and escape to a fresh start. Whilst the audience filters in, Ross sits on tenterhooks alone in a cramped London flat, perched on a green suede sofa, sporting a grubby v-neck vest and boxers.
The Departure is an immersive pendulum batting between repressed British stoicism and a desperate search for human connection and understanding, found in whoever will listen. Tom Wells, writer and protagonist stars as Ross, a Northern fencer and kind-hearted squatter, whose story unravels over the next 80 minutes. Catalysed by Lily, a tightly-wound chemist, played by Harriet Chomley, who discovers Ross overstaying his welcome in her London flat amidst navigating her career and coming to terms with her recently deceased mother’s legacy.
Wells described bringing The Departure to life as a jittery, tense whirlwind, having only rehearsed for five days prior to this work-in-progress showing. Much like the production process, this show is an emotional whirlwind that doesn’t give you pause to breathe. The Departure holds significant bearing over the emotional landscape of a generation disillusioned by their social situation. Ross’ desperate escape attempt to Australia reimagines the story of many twenty-something year olds, caught in a male loneliness epidemic and swallowing the notion of any complete feeling. Lily on the other hand, grapples with a moral dilemma bubbling away under the surface, having rejected the nepotistic helping hand of her now deceased mother, she faces her pride and guilt head on and the quandary of being a good person.
Well’s scriptwriting, whilst successfully capturing the emotional turbulence of grief, guilt and the desire for inner peace, felt somewhat repetitive and lacking in refinement. Dialogue swung harshly back and forth between panic attacks and verbose meltdowns. The emotional back and forth was brought to a head, and charmingly diffused by Ross’ northern wit, which provided a release from the tension that built up time and time again throughout the show.
There is something inexplicably special about being at an arms length from a performance. Sitting only a few metres from duologue partners Wells and Chomley felt like an intrusion into an evening where the audience was an uneasy guest, never meant to see the awkward, desperate hunt of two souls trying to understand one another. Despite the uncomfortable reality of loneliness, grief and stubborn self-soothing rituals, having another human see us in a raw unadulterated state, as the product of our circumstances, is one of the most genuine
interactions we can have. I left Alphabetti Theatre somewhat exhausted, not being able to help project my own experiences onto that of Ross and Lily. Grief and the impact of parental figures is a tale all audiences will be able to empathise with in The Departure, whether conscious or not, parental figures shape our worldview, their influence becoming a deterrent, an expectation or a driving force informing the choices made throughout our lives.