Review: Foal (Finborough Theatre)

Review by Ruth Sealey

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

A one-hander in the tiny space of Finborough Theatre, running for ninety minutes, is theatre at its most intimate. Into this space, Titus Halder brings his new play, Foal - a play about being trapped on an island and about escape, about childhood, obsession, love and family, and ultimately about controlling the beast within. In a week where the country is voting, its themes of racism, immigration and belonging feel especially relevant. But can this new play, told through the eyes of just one man, transport an audience from an island and back again, while capturing the emotions of revenge and retribution?

A.K. was brought up on the island. The island itself is never named, but references scattered throughout the play place this as the Isle of Wight, and, as someone who spent a few misspent university years on the south coast, my view of the island may now be changed forever. Desperate to escape, A.K. eventually leaves, only to be drawn back by a series of events that spark a search for revenge. Speaking directly to the audience, he recounts his childhood on the island and the experiences that shaped him along the way. Told in three distinct parts, the play follows him from childhood, through teenage years and into adulthood, documenting the strained relationship with his parents, his experience of racism and the ever-evolving connections with his friends and enemies. Without giving away spoilers, A.K.’s return to the island to right a wrong is dramatic and heartbreaking.

Titus Halder’s writing in Foal is striking from the outset. Ninety minutes of dialogue, and I hung on every word. He has woven language that feels like lyrics to a song, or like poetry, which rises and falls before suddenly cutting deep, making the audience feel humour and fear all at once. From the opening moments of the play, Halder makes the audience need to, and want to, stay on this journey with A.K., desperate to find out what terrible thing he has done, and for which he feels no regret. More than anything, the writing feels real, capturing moments of life we can all recognise: letters from school, the chiding of parents, young love, heartbreak, friendship, and the pressure of living up to expectations. Racism and stereotyping sit as key forces shaping what A.K. becomes, and what he does, and a reference on the Tube to real-life events in London in 2005, and the rise of the BNP during that period, adds a grounded sense of time and consequence.

It’s hard to talk about the elements of this show in isolation, as they complement each other so well - from the writing and acting to the creative choices in set, lighting and sound. However, I will go next to Annie Kershaw’s direction. Titus Halder may have written the words, but Kershaw brings them to life in a way that feels both precise and effortless. She creates a world of shifting locations within a small space, making it feel expansive without ever forcing it. The movement of A.K. across the stage genuinely feels like a journey, and touches such as the use of a microphone to slip between roles is a simple but inspired choice. She also shows a strong control of pace, allowing moments to breathe before tightening the tension again, so that the rhythm of the piece constantly shifts between stillness and urgency. Subtle gestures and carefully judged movement keep the performance grounded and human, while making full use of the physical space without ever overplaying it. It all feels meticulously considered and results in a production that is tightly directed, emotionally clear, and completely cohesive.

Amar Chadha-Patel is outstanding as A.K., and for this to be his professional stage debut is hard to comprehend. He is magnetic on stage, and shows such vulnerability that at moments I had to resist the urge to tell him it would all be okay, before being drawn into a frightening sense of his rage and anger as the reality of his story sets in. Chadha-Patel has a remarkable ability to speak directly to the audience without ever truly breaking the fourth wall; we are there with him in the moment but also just bystanders, watching his life unfold. Even as A.K. carries out his revenge, when I might have expected to feel anger at his choices, I found myself feeling sympathy. He delivers his lines with such clarity and storytelling: admittedly, Halder’s text allows Chadha-Patel this luxury, but it is done with such feeling and connection.

Rajiv Pattani’s lighting, Pierre Flasse’s music and sound design, and Cara Evans’s set and costumes probably deserve a review of their own, and together form one of the strongest combinations of design I have ever seen. They lift the production to another level, and to achieve this in such a small venue is remarkable. Evans’ set is simple, but used in a way that constantly supports A.K.’s journey, never standing still but always serving the storytelling. The globe that rises and lowers from the ceiling becomes a striking focal point at key moments; the street light shifts the story from island to city, and the bench, with the simplest movement, becomes somewhere entirely new. It is all subtle, but incredibly effective.

The lighting and sound almost feel like characters in their own right, ebbing and flowing throughout and building an increasingly ominous atmosphere as the tension rises. Pattani’s lighting fizzes and crackles before suddenly falling still. At times it feels angry, glaring and blinding, cutting through the action and shifting the story through sudden plunges between light and dark. At others, it becomes something far more familiar: the light of a bedroom at home, or the midday sunlight of a school playground. It is lighting full of contrasts and expertly executed throughout. The final scene, with a red stage light shining directly forward, supports the intensity of everything unfolding on stage.

Pierre Flasse’s music is perfectly matched to its own storytelling journey. The score he has composed for this piece feels like a narrative in itself, helping to shape and contain the action. Every sound feels purposeful. At times, it relaxes, drawing the audience into calmer moments where A.K. feels like a friend gently recounting childhood memories. But then it repeatedly turns discordant and jarring, pulling the audience back towards the darkness at the centre of the story. Together with Rajiv Pattani’s lighting, it forms a seamless partnership, the two working in close harmony to heighten and echo each shift in tone and time.

I left the Finborough Theatre feeling as though I had witnessed not only a journey on stage, but the beginning of a journey for the play itself. Foal is unlike anything I have seen before; it moved me and drew out a wide range of emotions. In fact, it left me unsettled, questioning whether we can all be pushed beyond our limits when the right circumstances and pressures align. This is a play that punches above its weight; it is challenging to watch, compelling throughout, and deserving of a much wider audience. While the Finborough Theatre is the perfect place to begin, it feels like this is only the start of its journey.

FOAL plays at Finborough Theatre until 30^th May. Tickets from https://www.finboroughtheatre.co.uk/productions/foal

Photos by Steve Gregson.