Jo Sutherland savours the glorious gore of Blasted at Lyrics Hammersmith... as she hides behind her hands.
I’m not one easily offended. In fact, I like to consider myself to be quite hardcore. But after spending 110 minutes of being subjected to darkness and its older brother, I felt in need of a hug from someone whispering “everything’s going to be ok...”
In 1995 Sarah Kane – once described by Mark Ravenhill as “the most widely produced and fervently admired” playwright – shocked the theatrical world with Blasted. The play caused a wave of protest and hysteria that stemmed from multiple depictions of rape, suicide, eye-gouging and cannibalism.
Set in a plush hotel room in Leeds, a sordid love affair begins to unravel. Ian, a middle-aged alcoholic on the brink of death, tries to reignite a former abusive relationship with the simple-minded and much younger Cate. A series of abuse takes place before the hotel room is gate-crashed by a gun-weilding soldier. The world comes crashing apart – literally. The tables turn and Ian becomes subject to the atrocities and humiliation that he himself has inflicted on others.
Sean Holmes’ tremendous revival encapsulates the entire essence of the play, in all its gory glory. The cast is extraordinary for several reasons: spot-on characterisation, commitment to the script, and ability to make me gulp, hide my eyes behind my hands, and utter bursts of “oh god no, no, please no!” The captivating performances suck the audience into the nightmare as the boundaries between stage and auditorium dissipate. Shudders vibrate through the rows of the theatre... a Mexican wave of inner turmoil.
The moments that I found most gasp-inducing are now forming a montage in my psyche... and I find myself grimacing as I even type this recollection. OK, well the first image is of a neurotic woman holding a dead baby and cackling with laughter – a penetrating laughter that manages to resonate throughout the auditorium. This mental picture is accompanied by the same dead baby being eaten (yes, eaten) by a nightmarish creature that, moments before, used to resemble a man. What else...? Errr, perhaps the blood oozing from the gaping orifices where eyes used to live... a graphic masturbation scene with the audio-addition of 'cunt' being repeated again and again... Oh, and let’s not forget the man-on-man rape that seems to go on forever. Put it this way; if Quentin Tarantino were sitting next to me, he’d be cowering, hiding his eyes, rocking himself back and forth, and planning a phone-call to his therapist...
Despite being labelled as ‘in-yer-face theatre’, and deemed "a disgusting feast of filth" by the Daily Mail back in the day, Sarah Kane's work is now right at the centre of the world's theatrical repertoire. Kane wrote with enthusiasm, brutal honesty, skill and daring; she caused controversy and chaos with her power to disrupt and disturb. The play’s innovative structure must also be noted: a naturalistic first half, followed by a richly symbolic second half. The action is driven by the sharp and sardonic dialogue, underpinned by a mounting sense of claustrophobic violence and fear. And the production utilises each grim image, every shocking punch, to the max. Plays don’t come any darker or harsher than this astounding drama.
Blasted runs at Lyric Hammersmith until 20th November
Image: Simon Kane
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