Constellations, The Lowry, 9th-13th June 2015
A stage surrounded by white balloons and some slightly hypnotic music. Two actors enter the room. Lights flicker through the balloons, alerting the audience to the fact that something different could be about to happen in front of them, a play that might test the boundaries. Then Marianne (Louise Brealey) begins talking about how it’s impossible to lick the tip of your elbow, and some of the mystery immediately drops away, replaced by comedy.
It doesn’t take long to return, though. In the space of the first few minutes, we see Marianne repeat this line five or six times, but each time she is met with a different response from Roland (Joe Armstrong). His answers retain the comedic element of this early part of the play, but with each new reply we begin to see what Constellations is trying to do. We aren’t going to get just one straightforward narrative here; we’re about to see the infinite possible outcomes of each conversation. Parallel universes are being brought to the stage.
The play does tell a story of sorts. It’s the tale of these two people and their journeys through life, both together and not, multiple situations and the endless possibilities that those entail. We see them meet, and we see how that could lead to love or a life in which they never cross paths again. We see their first date, sometimes ending with them in bed, other times coming to a close with crossed words that kill the relationship before it begins. We see chance encounters, we see both fall in and out love and do things to jeopardise what they have. And we see forgiveness and failure, punishment and success. The whole range of emotions and outcomes in a play that runs for barely an hour and a half.
Full credit must go to Brealey and Armstrong for pulling this off. There are a couple of moments early on where you might wonder if they are over acting, but as they play develops you realise that this is necessary to differentiate the many versions of each scene they have to play. As the story develops, it becomes clear that these are two very adept actors, able to make every tone and meaning apparent. It’s a very impressive feat.
Perhaps most impressive are the scenes that deal with Marianne’s encroaching illness. Represented at first by unexplained issues with speech and movement, we later begin to get a true sense of just what is wrong with our protagonist. And then, of course, we witness the multiple ways this illness could develop. Both actors breeze through the quickly changing emotional requirements, allowing for an effortlessly engaging investigation of how illness can affect a relationship.
These sections also reach deeply into one of the play’s key themes. When we receive hints that Marianne is considering assisted suicide the issue of free will is brought to the very centre of the story. But it is always there in the margins. How much control do we have over our decisions? How much are we governed by the universe and other factors? Would life be easier if we were more like bees, born for a specific purpose, dead and gone once that purpose was fulfilled?
It’s a deep play that asks an awful lot of questions. It’s philosophical. It’s investigative and pondering. It’s trying to answer, or at least consider, some of the most important questions known to humanity. It’s doing a lot of the things that would often leads to accusations of pretentiousness. But it does these things in a way so fresh and innovative, that it deserves no such accusations.
Nick Payne has written a dazzling piece of theatre. It does a lot of new things, while sticking to some of the age old questions. It does a lot more in ninety minutes that many plays do in three hours.
Fran Slater