Heading into the auditorium at Riverside Studios via an exhibition called Faces of Russian Resistance, we find the two main actors of The Unseen, written by Craig Wright and showing in its UK premiere, already on the stage as we enter.
One is standing, restless, nervous. Another is curled up on the floor. They are in identical cells with wooden bench, bucket, plate, bowl and spoon. A bank of lights behind come on in a repetitive sequence every few minutes, accompanied by a blast of sound, once the play starts.
These men are Valdez (Waj Ali, effectively anxious) and Wallace (a superb Richard Harrington), an actor and an academic. They have never met or seen each other but regularly speak and play word games (“I went to the seaside and I brought …”).
The only freedom they have is to think, speak and remember. For Wallace, his spirit broken by years of incarceration, torture and humiliation, this is his only defence, and even then, he finds he repeats himself under the daily rounds of questioning.
For Valdez, a ray of hope and a possibility of escape occupies his mind. It all depends on what is in the cell between him and the more pragmatic Wallace, who marks the passage of time by moving bowl and spoon around his cell, and creates a picture of the prison by measuring the steps and turns from cell to interrogation.
The Unseen, although with the occasional moment of black comedy, is not for the faint-hearted, and a graphic description of the torture of a prisoner can only prompt revulsion, whether it really happened within this universe or not.
The only guard we see is Smash (Ross Tomlinson, snarling and scared), a young soldier, perhaps, or other agent of the regime or revolution, we are never sure which. He is thuggish and violent and yet plagued by his own mental anguish at the person he has become.
Iya Patarkatsishvili is the director of this uneasy play, which works best as a two-person character study waiting for something to happen that is routine, and how they deal with something that is not. These are men who were imprisoned for small infractions with little hope of release, dehumanised by hooded beatings, water torture, assaults and silence.
Yet, in Wright’s script, they still converse with each other and, in Wallace’s case, retain a formal level of politeness (“Mr Valdez”). This play celebrates the human spirit, the use of language, and the power of imagination in circumstances most of us could not even imagine.
I found the set design (by Simon Kenny) interesting, with the cells open to us with a walkway behind, in a peverse hint to the freedom of the soul. For Valdez and Wallace life has reduced to their cells and “the room” to which they are taken with monotonous regularity.
The sound design by Mike Walker and lighting by Anna Watson suggest both a place of refuge and of retribution. The production doesn’t offer screams or discord in its soundscape, instead the silence is oppressive enough and every little tap holds meaning.
The Unseen offers little in the way of catharsis during its 75 minute run. Although it doesn’t expressly identify Russia as the tolitarian regime, it clearly reminds us of those thrown into inhabitable cells for the smallest of acts classed as criminal, and explores all facets of humanity from love to fear.
Showing for a limited run to the 14 December, The Unseen is a thought-provoking and disturbing dramatic piece which dances on the edge of what it means to be human, even in the most basic sense, and how and why some humans torture, repress, and abuse others in the name of justice.
The Unseen is at Riverside Studios to 14 Dec with tickets here.
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Image credit: Manuel Harlan