By Chris Hosking
Can love be measured in megabytes?
What information is stored in memory? How do we find it once lost? Will a barrage of information bring us closer together or divide us?
Caryl Churchill’s brilliant 2012 text Love and Information is a challenge and a delight. It consists of over 50 scenes, the order of which is within the hands of each production, and hosts more than 100 characters, none of whom are explicitly named, aged, or gendered, with close to zero-direction on set, sound, and cast size. It is a sprawling, punchy, hysterical, heart-breaking and confusing Rubik’s Cube of a show.
It’s a play for, and about, our over-saturated world of social media and connectivity. The majority of scenes running at the same length of a TikTok reel, flashing before our eyes and layering over one another.
This By Theatre Works production, currently on at Theatre Works until the 14th of June, has taken the opportunity and put together something energetic, raucous and bold. Self and aptly described as “maximalist”, the creative team have made a lot of choices here and choreographed a busy show that fires on all cylinders. It rarely hits the mark.
Belle Hansen leads the direction and choreography here, assisted by Bek Schilling. They have tightly mounted the show, which has some crystal moments of theatrical flourish. The show certainly has drive and the actors are throwing themselves from scene to scene with commendable commitment, though the freneticism and jumbled nature of the fast-paced scenes leaves the audiences feeling removed from it all. Perhaps the show has too well mimicked the experience of scrolling through intense TikTok reels of reunions, losses, and peculiarities – but it feels like it’s personalised by someone else’s algorithm. At times, the production feels like something you are subjected to, rather than something you are invited into.
There is considerable humour in the direction, and some bold choices, like placing an actor in the backrow of the audience, or having another actor come and whisper to the audience. There’s moments and acting styles that are borderline pantomime and others that belong in sitcoms, amongst the general tendency for melodrama. These choices are more baffling than provoking, standing out as gimmicks rather than opportunities for impact.
Hats off to Sean Yuen Halley, Charlie Morris and Emma Woods for nailing the emotional peaks of the night across three separate scenes. These moments of trying to hold on to something precious are perfectly captured by the actors and leaves you wanting more of that magic to be recreated elsewhere in the show. In particular, Emma Woods feels particularly underutilised in the sprawling production. Elsewhere, Iopu Auva’a captures great moments of rage and comedy.
Supporting and weaving its way through the production is a sound design by Jack Burmeister. It’s an accomplished soundscape that underpins the emotional beats and flows through the many changes of the show. Burmeister is clearly cooking with a cinematic approach to the score. That said, with the action of the show being as noisy as it is, the actors all inexplicably mic’d and amplified, the sound design is often overridden and at risk of being unappreciated.
It should be said that the musicality of the production is additionally carried by performers Felix Star and Jack Francis West, who lend their cello playing (Star) and bright beautiful vocal talents. The duet is a highlight of the production, but at the same time, the greater scene is indicative of the show’s failings. There’s a projection of lovers on the beach, there’s two young performers sharing a gorgeous duet, there’s a high ledge the set provides, and then there’s a heart-breaking (or warming) portion of text that revolves around lost memory and the power of music. None of it particularly works as a collective when combined.
Harry Gill’s set design frames the action in a sky-blue proscenium arch complete with a luscious stage curtain that’s soon drawn. Another arch is revealed, this time framing an elevated rotating stage, a staircase down, and a playing area all adorned in fake grass. The traditional framing and bright colours make for a whimsical design that is almost immediately undercut by a dark storm sequence early on. Additionally, the rotating stage allows the playing space to be divided into multiple shapes, but this conceit is rarely used for dramatic effect.
Hannah Jenning’s production design layers above the set, on the exposed wall of the revolving set, with a series of slick projections. At one point, previous sequences begin to intercut, images struggling for primacy as the information flashes us by, the production design putting its foot on the gas of the show. At another point, the projections share the title of each scene for a string of scenes, and then that practice is dropped. The design is polished work. It adds to the show in its maximalist style, if not helping lift the overall experience.
The action is lit by Sidney Younger, assisted by Joshua Fernandez. There are beautifully stark moments of harsh lighting. Cold and dark scenes contrast with warmer moods, and side lighting is used to great effect. However, for a production as intent on making as many creative choices as possible and embracing a Total Theatre approach, the relative lack of colour in the lighting design stood out as pared back comparatively.
Holding it all together on the night is Jade Hibbert as Production and Stage Manager, assisted by Mahi Modouris. With the number of quick changes, props, and the many exits and entrances of the show, Hibbert’s hands are undeniably full, and quite clearly more than capable of handling it all.
All in all, this production of Love and Information has many things that would work, and a holistic whole that does not. Running somewhere between 105 to 115 minutes without an interval, the production is at serious risk of being a trial rather than a treat.
Image:Steven Mitchell Wright
