A LITTLE LIFE
★★★★
Harold Pinter Theatre until June 18, Savoy Theatre from
July 4-August 5 alittlelifeplay.com
TOWERING performances and Ivo Van Hove’s visceral production pierce the harrowing heart of Hanya Yanagihara’s 2015 novel across almost four hours in one of the major theatre events of the year.
Illicitly snapped naked photos of James Norton leaked from the previews weren’t just a violation of his staggering, fearless baring of body and soul, there are painful parallels to the horrific experiences of his character – and our reasons for watching them.
Are we voyeurs to unimaginable suffering?
Jude was relentlessly physically, sexually and emotionally abused throughout his orphaned childhood and taught to cut himself as a way to manage his pain and rage. He continues to self harm. Weaving back and forth in time, it is all repeatedly referenced and often graphically shown.
Traumatic to watch, it never feels gratuitous. I felt compelled to bear witness. Norton brings exquisite nuance to all of his layers of emotion, from subtle flickers to torrents of pain and despair or flashes of joy.
It starts innocuously. The strippedback stage backed with three rows of the audience feels cosy as four witty childhood chums banter affectionately at home. The 700-page book expands the interior lives of Jude’s friends but
the play reduces them to their lifelong interactions with Jude.
All are aware their friend has trust and intimacy issues and dark secrets but it is sweet Willem (Bridgerton’s Luke Thompson, radiant) who is steadfastly devoted for decades until they tentatively, tenderly fall in love – breathtakingly, truthfully handled by both actors. Jude, at last, allows someone into his past and his damaged heart.
Elliot Cowan (chillingly effective) plays Jude’s three main abusers, all monstrous in ways too unbearable to catalogue. He is balanced by Zubin Varla as Jude’s law professor Harold who becomes a father figure and asks to adopt him. Between their scenes, he prepares food at a kitchen counter, a symbol of elusive domestic safety. His final closing speech reduced me to tears.
As in the book, I struggle with the dénouement. One last devastating blow feels clichéd, contrived to facilitate the ending. The music, provided by a fine string quartet, jars appallingly in the most emotional scenes, discordant B-movie horror screechings distracting from the superb actors.
Ultimately, this is not an easy watch but it is hauntingly unforgettable.