Cocooned in the quiet darkness of the Michael Pilch Studio, Moth brings us into the bedroom. With its quaint teddy bears and planet-patterned pillowcases, this set is perfect for two boys who don’t want to grow up. The stage is thrust into the audience, some sit only a step from the scene. We are close, uncomfortably so, befitting a play that centres on a family tangled too tight by their trauma.
Alec Tiffou, writer and co-director, has mastered the art of pace, weaving the sub-text into complex portraits of repressed rage, shame, and desire. While the first half is more assuredly written than the second, Tiffou consistently treats the disconcerting subject matter with great tenderness and intelligence, never veering into the sensational.
You are welcomed by stark content warnings on the studio doors, which, though necessary, would give an observant audience member enough to piece together plot twists before they play out onstage. Yet, this works to its benefit; each moment is made more heart-wrenching by the resulting sense that tragedy is inevitable; the moth must fly closer and closer to the flame.
An acute attention to detail marks Moth as a standout in the world of student theatre. Building on a stellar script, the set (Angharad Thorp and Euan Elliot), with its picturesque assortment of lamps and old-fashioned chairs, crafts an illusion of harmony in contrast with the play’s psychological conflict. It all feels unnervingly real, from the commanding performances of the entire cast to the Coco-Pops, orange juice, and cucumbers consumed throughout.
This immediacy relies on the impressively uncontrived portrayal of Luca by Rob Wolfreys. He far surpasses his already successful debut as Proteus in Two Gentleman of Verona, expertly balancing volatility and vulnerability. With arresting nervous energy, Wolfreys resists any potential stasis from the confined set, springing from bed to bed, and in a moment of desperation, hurling himself across the dining table with knife-edge intensity.
Esme Somerside is likewise perfectly cast as the eponymous ‘Moth’, wraithlike and compelling. Though her line delivery is, at times, too unvaried, Somerside is unceasingly alert to her character’s physicality; often curling her limbs around herself like fragile moth wings. Rose Martin is similarly strong in a bold and memorable debut, though certain moments are somewhat overacted. She is undoubtedly one to watch next term.
Most striking is Vita Hamilton as the mordant Jo. She is at her best on a small stage like this, where we can appreciate her mesmerising micro-expressions which signal a talent that is truly few and far between. Hamilton deftly elicits our every emotion; the Pilch resounds with laughter at Jo’s attempts to act out despair, moaning “I’m so depressed”, and listens in captivated silence to her haunting rendition of ‘Singin’ in the Rain’.
It is no surprise then, that I heard more than one audience member stifling a sob, or that many were lost for words during the interval. Matchbox Productions has once again delivered an unabashed, piercing piece of theatre. I’ll be proudly lighting my cigarettes with their complimentary matches for weeks to come.
