a play asking urgent questions about generational responsibility and the right to not feel old
Originally written and performed at the Royal Court in 2016, The Children may still remain one of the best, if not the best, post-apocalypse plays of recent years.
Inspired by Fukushima and set in the aftermath of a nuclear disaster, The Children follows retired scientists Hazel (Meera Syal) and Robin (Declan Conlon), who have retreated to a cottage by the sea just outside the radiation exclusion zone. The couple attempts to preserve a “normal life” by looking after the farm and doing yoga. However, their seeming peace is disrupted by the visit of their former colleague, Rose (Francesca Annis).
For the first 30 to 40 minutes, Kirkwood can feel slight slow, expanding over the gritty minutiae of life in the past. However, director Rachel O’Riordan cleverly adopts a very fast-paced blocking that keeps everybody on the move: Robin moves back and forth between the cottage and the farm, Hazel seems buried by housework, while Rose just wanders about in the main living room. Interestingly, such compulsiveness of “keep busy” reveals people’s need to perform normality after such a major disaster.
Unlike Francesca Annis’s mature femininity illustrated at the Royal Court, Kerry Fox presents a more androgynous and carefree Rose. In one sense, this helps explain the “common language” between Rose and Robin: she can feel almost like the female version of him. More importantly, Fox’s interpretation redirects the play’s emotional dynamic focus to the relationship between the two women.
Yes, The Children is not just a play asking urgent questions about generational responsibility and the right to not feel old. It is also about these two contrasting women: one claims to hate the other, while the other dreams of killing the former. Nevertheless, the pair finally leaves the cottage hand in hand. In an uncanny way, they desire to becoming each other. Meera Syal precisely captures the contradictions within Hazel, who is at the same time domestically maternal while fragile when facing vital, life-changing (or life-terminating, in this play) decisions.
When it comes to the revelation of Rose’s true intention of visiting, Kirkwood showcases a textbook example of how to interweave several dramatic registers into one scene at the same time. It discusses generational responsibilities without sacrificing vivid, convincing character portrayal. The theatrical hallmark of the dancing since feels so natural, and Conlon’s delivery of Robin’s confession about the milkmaid feels so fleetingly poetic. Conlon delicately captures the inner life of a sad old ma which feels much more authentic to everyday life than their performed busyness.
Holly Khan’s semicircular arch, visualising a nuclear power station as the backdrop against the cottage, already indicates that the couple’s pretence peacefulness won’t last long. The trio’s final decision seems to suggest a nobler choice, but we know there are still unsettling questions, for which Hazel urgently needs the answers.