Review: 23.5 Hours (Park Theatre)

Review by Sam Waite

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

When accusations of sexual misconduct are made, attention understandably is split between two parties – the victim, and the perpetrator; the accuser, and the accused. In 23.5 Hours, making its UK debut at the Park Theatre, American playwright Carey Crim casts her eye over the spouse, friends, and child of a teacher accused of improper conduct with one of his students, and the resulting strain upon his release from prison.

23.5 Hours (pronounced “and a half”, not “point five”) takes its title from a monologue in which Leigh, the wife of newly-released Tom, confesses that this is how much of each day is spent sure of his innocence, before that lingering doubt creeps to the forefront. While his best friend seems to more assuredly believe him, his own wife is an instinctive believer of victims and her newfound overprotectiveness when their daughters are concerned begins to fracture her and Leigh’s bond. Meanwhile, Tom and Leigh’s son is now sixteen, has changed enormously in the two years since he last saw his father, and has built a considerable amount of resentment for both parents’ failings.

Tom, a know-it-all to the degree that I was impressed he never took the chance to clarify that it’s actually hebephilia he’s being accused of, not paedophilia, is played by David Sturzaker. In the calmer introductory scene, where the four friends banter over drinks after the Tom-directed school play, Sturzaker does an admirable job of playing both Tom’s charms and how utterly insufferable he can be. Upon his return, his portrayal carries darker layers, and a sense of distractedness that suggests a particularly difficult incarceration, and a desire to avoid thoughts of where he goes from here.

In Leigh, Lisa Dwan instils a genuine, all-encompassing dread for much of the show. Where the role, and the performance as a result, can lean into histrionics and overwhelming reactions, these moments of bombast are in keeping with the storytelling, and with the genuine emotions stirred by a life ever more fractured. A glittering, affable spouse ready for her starring role in a sitcom, Dwan’s performance benefits from the levels she is able to bring to the part, doing well with selling the throwaway jokes that keep the evening from becoming too intense to maintain any momentum.

Crim’s dialogue is realistic enough without bordering on too close to reality, which could make a difficult watch borderline impossible. Where admittedly it could stand a small trim, and a near-finale scene with Tom and his son Nicholas rings slightly hollow for how little time their relationship has been given, the storytelling is always strong and the willingness to allow interpretation is a brilliant choice. We know what Tom says, what some of the characters believe, but not the facts of the matter – Crim lets us come to our own conclusions, or simply sit with the fact we’ll never know. The understanding of the emotions at play is Crim’s greatest strength, and no reaction ever seems entirely out of left-field, either from the character or as a human response.

Allyson Ava-Brown and Jonathan Nyati bring enough implied history to Jayne and Bruce, close friends of Tom and Leigh, that their being at odds over Tom without major detriment to their marriage feels reasonable. In different ways, the cast are all commendable for their willingness to just be awful to one another, to allow themselves to not be the outright good guy of the piece and let the characters’ most grating elements rise to the surface. Likewise, Jem Matthews allows Nicholas to be exactly as irritating and difficult to tolerate as teenagers, particularly those in deep distress, can truly be. Matthews manages the treacherous balancing act of playing an embittered, foul-tempered young man and bringing to the same role a deep sorrow and desperation for renewed connection.

Of course, this unity of performances is also down to the guidance of director Katharine Farmer, who keeps a natural but never dull pace, understanding which moments need to be lingered on and which are simply part of a longer discussion. The movement choices really help to establish how each character feels about Tom, the women keeping their distance (Jayne more blatantly, Leigh seemingly by reflex) which Bruce is as willing to embrace his as ever before – Nicholas, of course, avoids interaction with any of them until pivotal later moments. Strong work also comes from fight director Allison Du Burgh, helping to create shocking and dynamic moments which serve to deepen the underlying emotions as they rise to the surface.

A wonderful, subtle collaboration comes from lighting and set designers Jamie Platt and Carla Goodman. A ceiling fan continually rotates above the stage, with Platt’s lighting angled just so to have it’s shadow whipping across the front of the stage – perhaps this is an imagined clock, ticking away the time until things fall apart, or a symbol of the desperate attempt to create some sense of constancy in their lives. Goodman’s two-levelled set also helps to create the idea of a lived-in home, packed with knick-knacks and moving pieces, while the lighting pulls in on Leigh in key moments, reinforcing the sense of dread and entrapment, reminding us just how small and how fenced-in those thirty minutes of doubt leave her feeling.

Perhaps an accept slips here and there, but with the weight of emotions being escalated again and again at a rapid-fire pace, it’s frankly remarkable that the cast are able to get the words out at all. Crim’s talents, too, cover up any minor flaws – the odd line too pointed to be a real conversation, the runtime being just a bit over what’s necessary – because her writing is simply too sharp, too nuanced in its scope to dwell on such things.

Challenging and important work, Carey Crim’s still-timely play – it pre-dated the #MeToo movement, and has been tweaked in the 12 years since – has plenty to say and is unafraid to bluntly say it. Aided greatly by a cast who bring to their roles charm, likability, and a willingness to abandon these traits entirely, 23.5 Hours is resonant, powerful theatre that succeeds even when where it threatens to stumble over its own ambitions. Intimate in scale but global in its scope, this is the kind of play people will recall moments from years after this premiere’s closing night.

23.5 Hours plays at Park Theatre until October 5th

For tickets and information visit https://parktheatre.co.uk/event/235-hours/

Photos by Charles Flint