If there’s something I’ve learned about plays, it’s not to judge one by its online plot summary. The one for Closer briefly informed me that the story centred around the love lives of two men and two women, and made a general claim to an exploration of love and honesty. Sound like another pretentious drama dressing up unhappy marriages as the perfect depiction of our alienating society? Then buy a ticket and prepare to be amazed.
Closer is a play of banal settings with everyday extremes. Condensed into this busy and fluid dialogue is a core of real humanity – neither too coldly imperfect, nor too heatedly idealistic – just right. The key to its success can be found in the tight fusion of tear-jerking climaxes and dry joviality. If you want the recipe, it is a delicate balance of egg sandwiches (no crusts), philosophy and internet dating sites, all nonchalantly mingling with together like guests at an art exhibition.
I mentioned internet dating sites; this was one of the highlights of the set. None of the props were flashy, in fact the projected images of the Windows 98 start-up screen (complete with dial-up sound effects) and ‘LondonFuck’ chatroom seemed to be the most high-tech that it got. I won’t spoil the hilarious surprises, which such a setting will inevitably entail, and will move swiftly on to the conveniently exciting feature of two scenes in one. Three characters, two dialogues, one dinner table – do the maths, and you’ll come up with a sum of genius proportions.
The pauses were so well timed, the joins so seamless, the change in coloured lighting was almost necessary to remind any baffled onlookers that one dialogue was (in all senses of the word) a flashback. It was not just in this scene, but in the rapid transition between all twelve different places and times that the real ambition and achievement shone through. Not every scene change was utterly stream-line, but the background-noise sound effects quickly stuck the imagination where it should have been, and carefully appropriate funky rock tunes made the pauses in between perfectly pleasant. In fact, it was actually a relief to have a little time to fit each piece into the puzzle.
As intimately realistic as this play was, it still sought to remind its viewers of the artistry behind it: four frames, one set out for each character to stand in, (resourcefully used as entrances and exits throughout), bookended the experience with a brave self-conscious. The characters, with their captivating quarrels and casual quips, presented the most honest lie that I’ve seen on stage in a long time.
FIVE STARS
