Review: Deaf Republic (Royal Court Theatre)

Review by Sam Waite

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

At the trial of God, we will ask: why did you allow all this?

And the answer will be an echo: why did you allow all this?

From Jabberwockies to Jellickes, from Sondheim to Shakespeare, poetry has long since proven to have its place on stage. Indeed, with Cats a permanent pop culture staple and even Homer’s Odyssey fuelling a TikTok-boosted concept album, drawing from the work of poets seems as vital as it does viable. With that in mind, it makes perfect sense that Deaf Republic, a narrative collection of poetry from Ilya Kaminsky, has found its way to the stage at the Royal Court Theatre.

Adapted by Dead Centre and Zoë McWhinney, Deaf Republic chronicles a rebellion in the fictional town of Vasenka, where a deaf child is killed for disobeying orders he could not hear. The following day, the people of Vasenka wake up deaf to their oppressors, their very senses seeming to stage a rebellion. While the soldiers' frustrations grow, the story moves through the lives and adaptations of various members of the community, beginning with the slain child’s aunt and her new husband.

The show begins with the entrance of cast members Caoimhe Coburn Gray and Romel Belcher, whose roles the text credits for this first scene as simply Signer (Belcher) and Worder (Gray). Interpreted by Worder, Signer introduces Deaf Republic’s nature as an accessible performance – “I recommend you try to ignore her,” Signer tells the audience in a fun reversal of the too-common complaint of being distracted by interpreters signing on or offstage. As Gray’s Worder is introduced as her character in the story proper, Sonya, a screen overhead brings a new element to life, with surtitles filling in wherever signing does not occur.

Sonya and Alfonso, her husband and Belcher’s character-proper, are puppeteers in a time where gatherings such as their audiences have been strictly forbidden, and her young cousin Petya pays the price of this first defiance. Jeremy Herbert’s set design leans hard into the puppetry motif, with each setting a scaled-up version of what is happening within the puppet theatre, accompanied by both a clear scrim and a blackout curtain onto which live video (directed by Grant Gee) of this miniature stage is projected to fill the full-scale stage of the Royal Court’s Jerwood Downstairs auditorium. And so, as we have been told by Signer and Worder, we the audience take on the role of the townsfolk of Vasenka, and become complicit in its act of defiance.

Pulling lines and passages verbatim from Kaminsky’s poetry allows Dead Centre and McWhinney to explore the author’s blend of the abstract and the direct, of linear narrative and symbolic exploration. On paper, Kaminsky’s monologues on extended erections and oversized wedding dresses can sound odd, but Dead Centre and the cast have a clear understanding of the author’s intent, and read the lines in an appropriate, engaging rhythm in which the poetic nature of this town’s citizens becomes apparent. A sequence of new parents Sonya and Alfonso sharing a bath is particularly tender, perhaps one of the show’s strongest moments, pulling heavily and capably from the related poems alongside an intimate and well-choreographed staging.

Between Cillian O Donnachadha, the production’s puppetry consultant, and the duo behind Dead Centre (Bush Moukarzel and Ben Kidd) as co-directors, the puppet-stage aesthetic is largely effective and provides some of the play’s most impactful moments. As the worlds of the puppets and the players merge and the implicit feelings of external control rapidly build, the effect is heightened further with the help of a pair of aerial consultants, Chrissie Ardill and Kat Cooley, whose assistance shapes some striking imagery and a genuinely chilling final tableau.

Across the board, the talent and dedication on display is undeniable. Kevin Gleeson’s sound design plunges the hearing audience members into discomfort when we are placed in the POV of Petya, barked at and struck down for defiance he was never truly aware of, and Roisin O’Donovan’s work as intimacy coordinator allows for some genuine moments of tender eroticism between characters, particularly the nudity-heavy but non-explicit bath sequence, as well as some more upsetting scenes in which we can be assured of performers’ wellbeing. This is to say nothing of the cast, whose hands and voices carry the weight of their characters in a fine set of performances. A terrific Dylan Tonge Jones has the unenviable task of being murdered time and time again, reminding us that an endless array of identical soldiers will be trotted out for as long as Vasenka keeps up its rebellion.

  Ironically, the play’s key shortcoming may come down to its accessibility. Creative captioning is employed, with a mountable and moveable screen conveying certain sections of dialogue, and being acknowledged as doing so within the narrative. While the September 12th performance is slated to have more continuous captioning, the bulk of performances do not have captioning for all dialogue, meaning any deaf or hard of hearing patrons who do not fluently sign could find themselves lost. For a show which reinforces repeatedly its own accessibility to all, it was a shame to realise that a chunk of the audience may be missing part of the performance entirely. Likewise, the matinee on September 13th will include continuous British Sign Language interpreting and audio description, and while such inclusions are welcome and wonderful to see, it seems a shame to limit these features to specific dates.

More subjectively, the primary drawback for some audience members will simply be not gelling with the material. Ilyas Kaminsky’s Deaf Republic is award-winning and widely acclaimed, but that does not mean there are no detractors, be they dismissive of the work or having not connected with the material. Having read and felt deeply compelled by Kaminsky’s collection, I feel that Dead Centre’s Deaf Republic is a powerful, passionate adaptation which remains true to the themes and ideals behind the author’s words – however, I’m willing to accept that a stellar adaptation will not be, to all, a stellar production. With a camera-mounted drone, aerial manoeuvres and live video feeds, the show is somewhat of a multimedia spectacle, and other shows of its type have proven divisive in recent times – again, this works beautifully for me, but I could understand a sense of overwhelm or of too many elements being introduced for the concepts to be fully explored.

A miraculous piece of stagecraft and a strong adaptation of the widely-loved text, Deaf Republic is invigorating and passionate theatre which succeeds on a majority of levels. While there are some stumbles in the strides it takes towards accessibility for all, the willingness to take these steps at all demonstrates at least some commitment towards essential development in these areas. With commanding performances from a cast of seven, and some clever commentary on more anticipated elements of an “accessible performance” there is humour and heart among the horrors on display, and Deaf Republic proves to be a truly fascinating piece of art.

Deaf Republic plays at the Royal Court Theatre until September 13th

For tickets and information visit https://royalcourttheatre.com/whats-on/deaf-republic/

Photos by Johan Persson