Author: Alex Ansdell

The heart and humour of Michael Wynne’s dark comedy about a multi-generational Scouse family tearing at the seams is undeniable, which makes it all the most frustrating when its ending leaves the family’s unresolved issues scattered across the stage.

Michael Wynne is no slouch; BAFTA and Olivier award-winning and a catalogue of hard-hitting and grounded work that spans decades. His new play Cuckoo, that runs at the Royal Court before heading up to the Liverpool Everyman, doesn’t stray far from home. It all takes place in the homely home of Doreen, newly addicted to eBay selling and whatever else her phone might flash up at her. Her daughters Carmel and Sarah are regular visitors, along with Carmel’s daughter Megyn who, after a testy argument about climate change, locks herself in her grandmother’s bedroom indefinitely and ordains that all future communication must be done through text. Thus follows a furious Carmel lambasting her mother for meekly obeying Megyn’s every call for orange squash and roast chicken crisps.

There is deft, warm direction from the Court’s outgoing AD Vicky Featherstone that allows us to sidle up to Wynne’s likeable and genuine characters. The performances are excellent all-round: Sue Jenkins is utterly recognisable as blunt, well-meaning grandmother Doreen, Jodie McNee’s Sarah goes from haranguing to heart-breaking as her genuine attempts to unite the family and understand all sides are batted away, most brutally by the brilliant Michelle Butterly, whose Carmel is jaded, cynical and impulsive – gleeful shades of Anna Maxwell-Martin in Motherland. Recent drama school grad Emma Harrison is not given a huge amount to do (or say) as the impenetrable Megyn, but her cold stoicism gives plenty for the rest of her family to bounce off.

The set is inviting, old furniture hinting at a past world that unravels, although it is undercut by an unnecessary LED framing (Mini-rant: why must everything have LEDs? I like LEDS. To be true, I love LEDs. But everything? Does a show lose financing if not surrounded by glowing plasma? Has every theatre in the UK made a deal with the B&Q devil?) 

It is a charming pot-boiler that builds tension effectively, but sadly the ending blows the house of cards away. Many of the questions that the play has raised are left in the cold and replaced by out-of-the-blue family truths that feel alien to the 100 minutes of play we’ve just watched. The final image is impactful in showing us who the play is truly about, but it is deeply unsatisfying to invest time and attention into a story that comes back empty-handed.

With some editing this piece could truly fly – lop off twenty minutes at the top and slap it on the end, wrap up the loose ends and you’ve got a cracking piece on the difficulty to break down barriers between generation. As it is, the script blocks this fantastic team from soaring as high as they can.

Ahlam’s Women’s Prize-winning debut play You Bury Me comes to the Orange Tree after a run at Bristol Old Vic, directed by Katie Posner. It follows six young people trying to navigate love and work under the cloud of a Cario in the wake of a devasting Arab Spring. Tamer and Alla try to nurture their burgeoning relationship without having SWAT teams barge in on their make-out sessions; Alla’s brother Rafik moves in with Osman and clash over whether their online activities will alert the dictatorial police force; Osman’s sister Maya and her best friend Lina party the nights away until questions about their sexuality become too big to ignore. These six youngsters explore what it is to grow up in a country that feels lost, that has had its core corrupted.

The writing is clear and steady, creating a Friends-esque dynamic; you begin to enjoy seeing characters cross over from couple to couple, although the dialogue can be expositional and overwritten at times. The structuring is effective, introducing the context with a chorus at the outset before letting the political backdrop creep in as the play progresses, although the pace slows frustratingly towards the end and the final knots are tired.

The performances serve the piece well. One thing that these actors cannot be faulted for is their energy – not a ball is dropped through the near-two hour runtime as this sextet inject the piece with an infectious, youthful energy. They are all credible in their creation of interesting characters (Alderazi is a standout as the quirky and lively Rafik), but at times the line between naturalism and heightened comedy blurs, leaving us with theatrical whiplash.

Sara Perks’ set design is blissfully simple, a series of LED blocks and steps that create a landscape not dissimilar to a series of Cairo rooftops – the only misstep is how underutilised it is. This show has been transposed from end-on to being in the round, and at times the performances and lighting sadly leave some of us out but, on the whole, the production utilises the Orange Tree deftly.

With some tweaking and re-shaping, this play has huge potential as a vibrant and striking look into growing up amidst conflict: how can one come of age when it feels like the age is crumbling around them?