Review: The Aleph

‘The world is full of unspeakable things.’

The Aleph’s dark, minimalist stage and stark lighting communicate something of director Benedict Nicholson’s apocalyptic military vision from the outset.

Set in the intimate, claustrophobic location of the Burton Taylor, The Aleph depicts a breakdown of community under pressure akin to that of Lord of the Flies.

Relentlessly oppressive, an unbroken hour passes with strained dialogue and sustained tension.

Technically, this was a seamless production. There was a creative use of space, from the staging of the train scene to the dynamic movement of the actors, elevated on stage blocks or lounging on the floor at the audience’s feet.

The lighting, a dramatic chiaroscuro, maximized the limited potential of the studio to chilling effect, and the production overcame technical difficulties with ease – the noise of dragging props around between scenes cleverly assimilated into the roar of a train.

The acting was of high standard, carrying off an ambitious plot with panache and handling emotional scenes of appalling grief and suffering with maturity.

There were easily two stand out performances: the Captain, (Will Law) trembling – with nerves or intensity- dominates the early scenes with authoritative diction and strong stage prescence. Alden, played by Claire Bowman, was equally commanding, moving from the fringe to centre stage in a gradual crescendo, professional acting of a professional role.

However, the transition between speakers was sometimes stilted and the plot’s credibility was at times compromised by the slightly self-conscious delivery and exaggerated mannerisms of the loutish Corporal Lawson (JY Hoh) and the irreverent civilian thief Junks (Alex Wood.)

After a shaky start, the second half of the performance was superb. From an uneasy opening, mature and complex tensions began to emerge: public and private lives collide, authority is set against personality and freedom, loyalties conflict, and morality and duty are flung about the stage in heated discourse.

The Aleph is relentlessly dark, and an hour without relief leaves the audience pessimistic and exhausted.

Occasionally, the play seemed to grapple with themes above its reach – Eli Keren’s script deals with dark existentialist and psychological issues – a horrific Conradian vision of inconceivable knowledge and universal godlike perception.

The Aleph is ‘a terrible, unspeakable thing’, and the play seeks to explore the ‘emptiness of the very earth.’

Issues this large are not often dealt with by student companies, and this play proves they can be carried off with sophistication and conviction.