Far Away by Caryl Churchill - The Young Vic

Originally written for Exeunt

Caryl Churchill’s Far Away is 40 minutes long, give or take. It has three characters, one of whom is played by two actresses at different stages of her life, and it takes place in four locations.

We are in the Clare Studio, and the audience sit facing one another with a wooden promenade stage between them.

To give some background to the opening scenes, young Joan, intelligently played by Emilia Jones (alternated with Sasha Willoughby), is staying with her aunt Harper, played by Tamzin Griffin. During her stay, Joan learns things about her aunt and uncle that she is both too young to understand, and young enough to see that they are wrong. She knows that her uncle is keeping prisoners in their shed, and that he has attacked a couple of them, but her aunt convinces her that this is a positive movement that she can be part of. Joan grows up, and goes on to work in a hat industry and make hats for these prisoners.

It is here that the older Joan (Samantha Colley) meets Todd (Ariyon Bakare), and we watch as their relationship tantalisingly grows. The scenes are short, but by the time the set for the hat factory has disappeared, these characters are undoubtedly in love. Meanwhile, each scene change is punctuated with a cold, dark, mechanical soundtrack that snaps off again whenever the lights come up and the hats appear more decorated. It is an undercurrent that haunts us while Todd and Joan’s conversation weaves between their unspoken love and shared concern for the corruption of the hat industry. It threatens to erupt.

Then, a line of hats – ridiculous, beautiful, extravagant hats – begins to parade around us. There is cheering and applause from the surrounding crowds while people held together by chains whimper. A child cries. The cheering increases. Someone stumbles and puts a jolt in the rest of the line. Someone is hit. The line turn a corner and they are made to stand in front of the audience for an excruciatingly long time, crippled by the weight of their hats. The cheering continues and they are made to move again. Then there is the sound of gun fire, one bullet for each and every hat. The final bullet fires and the parade comes to an end.

In actuality, the only thing we see on stage is the hats hanging from the grid above the stage. Guy Hoare’s lighting gives them a looming aesthetic, and the sound creates the majority of the atmosphere that is so horrifying and distressing. But otherwise, there is no performance. Out of context, it is absurd to try to justify my shuddering, shaking and sobbing in response to the parade, but it is due to the direction of Kate Hewitt (the recipient of the JMK Director’s Award 2014), that it should achieve such a powerful effect so quickly. It is the contrast that is so striking: we have seen Joan as an innocent young girl in her pyjamas; the blossoming of love between Joan and Todd and the image of them posing before each other, wearing their hats, complementing each other and brimming with pride.

After the parade, and after Joan and Todd have left the hat industry, there is a sense of honesty as the cast lift a couple of the staging slabs and prop them against the wall, unveiling a light from beneath the stage and a haze of smoke. This production is ripe with similar moments that can be read symbolically, and when they’re not distracting, they highlight the depth of this play that is already a concentrated whirlwind of provocation. In particular, within the final scene, Joan has walked a vast number of miles just to be back with her husband and exhausted, she sleeps behind one of the staging slabs. Todd rests his back against this slab, waiting for her to wake. It is clear that although the removal of the staging slab – the foundations they walked on – has released light, the act has also put a barrier between them.

It is a thoughtful production of a timeless play. The play asks questions of our society, both globally and domestic, with a template that is universally recognised: the hat industry is a seemingly innocent organisation providing jobs and a service, but it is in support of a radically harmful one elsewhere. We see how the revelation of this corruption causes loved ones to be separated and forced to take sides. Like Joan and Todd, we call on our journalists to do something about the imbalance and injustice. From coffee shops, to sweatshops, to British politics and global affairs, we need only open a newspaper to recognise these characters. And so, this production maintains that timelessness in its sparse set, and you can see whatever you want hanging beneath those hats and heckling in the crowds.

Beyond this, our constant is in following the relationships between the people concerned. We have seen Todd and Joan grow in love, and Joan grow up to realise that her aunt is not necessarily right, just because they are family. Finally, this brings us to acknowledge the sideline message of Churchill’s play – what does any of the corruption and politics matter when we are confronted with love? Should it matter? it is as much an intellectual journey as an emotional one, and Hewitt’s brave move to produce one of Caryl Churchill’s plays has paid off, with sharp, moving, haunting clarity.

(I still cannot get the image of the parade of hats out of my head.)