Review: Contractions

Emma is one day summoned to her boss’ office. There she is interrogated about the friendship arising between herself and fellow colleague, Darren. If this friendship is found to be of a romantic nature, Emma will be in breach of contract. The incongruity of the sex-based conversation in the office setting titillates and the audience certainly titters. However, as the plot takes a sinister turn for the worst, the laughter soon disappears.

The boss runs the show. The tension and comedy of the piece rely on her guiling wit, her cold-hearted treatment of Emma’s personal life, and our struggle to work her out. Is she just a modern working woman with an overbearing sense of professionalism? Is she neurotic, even autistic? Or is she, put quite simply, a psycho bitch?

Sarah Pollock certainly delivers, often reminding one of an hilariously deadpan evil SIRI. While Pollock’s performance offers little in the way of variation, this may well be the fault of Mike Bartlett’s script, which offers little in the way of her character development. Nevertheless, an ice queenliness similar to that of her Enron rendition made Pollock chillingly good throughout. Also well-cast was the tortured employee, who flourished under Cate Kelly’s much needed emotional naturalism. Where Pollock is appropriately elusive, Kelly feels and expresses everything from confusion to fear to shock to despair to insanity to anger, and with the utmost conviction.

Although, perhaps pedantically, Emma’s lack of costume changes was bothersome. Time elapses between each meeting and by abandoning Kelly’s blazer and by switching tops for each scene this could have been shown more effectively. It seems likely that Pollock’s boss would wear the same outfit every day and would indeed have a wardrobe stocked up with one hundred identical suits. She is a freak. Emma is not.

However, the most bothersome and yet memorable aspect of Fraiser Craig’s production was the staging. ‘Contractions’ (ironically) exploded the Barron seating plan, dissected it, and rotated the two halves to create a kind of theatre in the round effect. Pollock reigned from the top of the racks while Kelly squirmed from the stage area in a stark, intense spotlight. The power dynamics were nicely shown in Kelly’s having to plod up and down the stairs to retrieve various documents from her superior. This effort was admirable. The effect however was detracting.

Bartlett’s play is many things at once. It is a black farce on the glass ceiling taken to absurd dimensions. It is a dystopian psychodrama that, like the rat scene in 1984, questions how far love can thrive amidst a tyrannical regime. But, it is first and foremost a battle. If you cannot spectate one woman’s advance with the other’s retreat within the very same moment, there is a problem. If you are straining your neck by throwing your gaze at 160 degree angles with every exchanged line, there is a problem.  If you can’t see Pollock’s face from where you are sat in the second row, there is again, a problem. ‘Contractions’ was stunningly acted. However, the viewing experience was sadly fraught with so many of such problems that its innovative conception could not come fully into fruition.