Animal/People - Rock Surfers

Overview

Brooke Robinson’s Animal/People (directed by James Dalton) has a whiff of Lionel Shriver’s We Need to Talk About Kevin to it — a man and a woman, uncertain of the true identity of their child, make certain assumptions as they attempt to wrangle their own inner beasts. There is animal instinct at work here, but also a great deal of human intent. It is difficult to decide which of the two is more damaging to these parents and their child.

As a man (Martin Crewes) is running one morning, he sees a woman who is the victim of an animal attack. He does not stop, but covertly appoints himself her protector, determined to identify the perpetrator and avert a repeat mauling. A woman (Georgia Adamson) encounters the same victim at the hospital where she works. The nature of the injuries sets her thinking, reflecting on her experiences of raising a son.

Animal/People is cagey, in its text and staging. The story is related in two monologue streams that complement each other but hesitate to illuminate a complete picture. Crewes skilfully portrays a man hiding so many secrets he has no time to appreciate the rising problems of those around him, nor the way his facade of blokiness and charm falls flat with them. Adamson’s woman is fascinating, torn between warring instincts of maternity and self-preservation. The guilt she experiences for eschewing human vulnerability is tempered by the detachment, vigilance and fear that arises from being surrounded by predators.

For the first half, the lights reveal little more than the faces of the man and woman, and it is not until the end that the audience is treated to a blindingly bright view of the stage. It is well worth the wait, as Dylan Tonkin’s set is beautiful — two white walls stretch upstage, converging in a shattered apex. Two (head?) lights shine dully over the carnage. A fleet of fluoros, flickering and angry, swarms from the devastation of the impact. A light layer of torn paper, the beginning of a rat’s nest, litters the space over a bed of black shredded rubber. A Perspex plinth sits centre stage. Lit from below, it is an eerie altar on which the characters sometimes attempt to sleep with little success.

Animal/People requires some patience and a little work to assemble as it unveils its plot in a manner designed to maintain a high degree of tension. This does nothing to detract, though, from an ugly, visceral and compelling piece of theatre executed by skilled artists on all sides.