Post by Steve on Apr 13, 2023 17:16:50 GMT
I really liked "Sea Creatures" this afternoon. While we witness day to day banal scenes, the play wants us to think about the meaning of life, and I did, so that's really something.
Some spoilers follow. . .
There is a line about humans evolving from the Ocean, so it's pretty clear that the Sea Creatures of the title are us, and this is a play less about plot than about how we sea creatures should spend the time we have.
June Watson's mystical character clues us in that if one lives a life without agency (hers has been stolen from her), even an apparently good one, looked at from the outside, it's awful.
So Tom Mothersdale's Mark, who has the most agency, but has fallen into misery, because he has lost his love, is the key character here. He has so much passion for life: not only is he looking for his love, but he seeks a genuine connection with her family members: he has written an appraisal and critique of the work of the family matriarch, his love's mother, and seeks her opinion; he has learned how to cook every dish in the world and seeks to share his knowledge; he flirts with his missing love's sister (though she evades him); he participates in the games the family plays; he is open to new things and finding new reasons to live.
Other characters are less open to change: Grace Saif's Toni is in a state of arrested adolescence, a kind of Peter Pan who refuses to grow up or change; Pearl Chanda's George hates her own pregnancy and actively works against it, smoking and drinking; Geraldine Alexander's Shirley wanders through rooms in a self-absorbed zombie state; Thusitha Jayasandara's Sarah, the matriarch's partner, seems thoroughly contented with her lot, though she aspires to nothing new.
The play is suffused with the sounds of the sea and nature (seagulls and storms), which remind us of the oblivion we came from and which we'll return to, as well as the repetitive nature of our days in between.
The question the play seems to ask is whether the essential tenet of Buddhism is right or wrong: is it painful to desire, suggesting we might better off using the little time we have like complacent zombies, or, confronted with loss and obstacles, should we seek "a brave new world that has such people in it" (like Miranda in the Tempest) even if so many people in the world are living in contented or discontented zombie states?
The question seems genuinely open, but my heart was completely with Mothersdale's character, and his quest to follow his desires, to learn things, to teach things, to participate in things, to have agency in everything.
I'm downgrading this from 4 stars to 3 and a half stars cos it clearly was losing some members of the audience to sleep, and that's a shame, as it offers so much that's interesting to think about, and hasn't found a way to get enough people thinking about them. Illuminating and entrancing and wonderfully difficult, nonetheless. I really enjoyed it.
Some spoilers follow. . .
There is a line about humans evolving from the Ocean, so it's pretty clear that the Sea Creatures of the title are us, and this is a play less about plot than about how we sea creatures should spend the time we have.
June Watson's mystical character clues us in that if one lives a life without agency (hers has been stolen from her), even an apparently good one, looked at from the outside, it's awful.
So Tom Mothersdale's Mark, who has the most agency, but has fallen into misery, because he has lost his love, is the key character here. He has so much passion for life: not only is he looking for his love, but he seeks a genuine connection with her family members: he has written an appraisal and critique of the work of the family matriarch, his love's mother, and seeks her opinion; he has learned how to cook every dish in the world and seeks to share his knowledge; he flirts with his missing love's sister (though she evades him); he participates in the games the family plays; he is open to new things and finding new reasons to live.
Other characters are less open to change: Grace Saif's Toni is in a state of arrested adolescence, a kind of Peter Pan who refuses to grow up or change; Pearl Chanda's George hates her own pregnancy and actively works against it, smoking and drinking; Geraldine Alexander's Shirley wanders through rooms in a self-absorbed zombie state; Thusitha Jayasandara's Sarah, the matriarch's partner, seems thoroughly contented with her lot, though she aspires to nothing new.
The play is suffused with the sounds of the sea and nature (seagulls and storms), which remind us of the oblivion we came from and which we'll return to, as well as the repetitive nature of our days in between.
The question the play seems to ask is whether the essential tenet of Buddhism is right or wrong: is it painful to desire, suggesting we might better off using the little time we have like complacent zombies, or, confronted with loss and obstacles, should we seek "a brave new world that has such people in it" (like Miranda in the Tempest) even if so many people in the world are living in contented or discontented zombie states?
The question seems genuinely open, but my heart was completely with Mothersdale's character, and his quest to follow his desires, to learn things, to teach things, to participate in things, to have agency in everything.
I'm downgrading this from 4 stars to 3 and a half stars cos it clearly was losing some members of the audience to sleep, and that's a shame, as it offers so much that's interesting to think about, and hasn't found a way to get enough people thinking about them. Illuminating and entrancing and wonderfully difficult, nonetheless. I really enjoyed it.
