Review: Kindling (Park Theatre)

Review by Sam Waite

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Getting all of your friends together in one place can be such a hassle, especially when none of them really know one another and the only thing anyone has in common is, well... you. Sarah Rickman takes this to the extreme in Kindling, a funny and thoughtful play bringing insights on friendship, grief and identity to the Park Theatre. Does a single shared love mean new friendships can be formed, or does losing that connective tissue mean a return to total separation?

Mei’s five best friends have come together at her request – her final request, as a matter of fact. All coming into her life through different means, and with the group having never all been in the same place at once, she has asked that they scatter her ashes in a Welsh redwood forest. Lacking in service, survival skills, and sense of direction, the quintet spend a night in a clearing bonding and bickering. A tent has been left behind, the phones are all dead or close to it, and five very different personalities seem set to collide.

Director Emma Gersch brings a natural flow to the proceedings, the characters wandering about here and there, checking bags and positioning wine bottles as conversations move from one topic to the next. Each character has their more ridiculous qualities, but every performance has been gently guided to the same extremes, exaggerated in places but wholly recognisable as friends, colleagues, relatives present in everyone’s lives. This gentle approach to the less intense moments pays off beautifully in scenes of comedic and dramatic extremes, the change more truly felt because of how real each of these women feels.

Scarlett Alice Johnson, Stacy Abalogun, Ciara Pouncett, Rendah Beshoori and Rickman herself make up the ensemble cast, with five strong turns and not a weak link to be found. Rickman and Johnson have the most overtly comedic performances, and throw themselves full-force into their work – Johnson as new-agey yoga enthusiast Cathy, a touch too posh to realise how out of touch her fixations are, and Rickman as Rose, the accident-prone but eminently well-meaning sister-in-law of the deceased. Both commit so thoroughly to the performances that, despite their irritating quirks, it becomes impossible not to be totally enamoured with them.

Much of the physical, embarrassing comedy of the second act falls to Renah Beshoori’s Jasmin, the middle-class friend who loved Mei despite her never pronouncing Jasmin’s name correctly. The properness with which she carries herself in the role makes the humiliation all the more hilarious, and allows her to unearth some real emotional heft towards the finale. Rounding out the cast are Pouncett, as uni friend Sue, and Abalogun, as childhood mate Jules. More similar than they’d like to admit, the pair are most openly at odds, and both actors bring real weight to revelatory moments later on, as well as throwing out the bulk of the bantering (and brutal) one liners.

Rickman’s script veers naturally between heartfelt and hilarious, allowing everyone to have moments both separate and shared of revelation and reflection. Discussions around perimenopause and the possible symptoms are insightful and potentially educational for some viewers, but also feel authentic to the trailing off and often disjointed conversations between these five women. The dialogue flows nicely and keeps everyone as a comedic presence without the need for constant joke-cracking and hijinks, employing broader strokes of comedy with a deft and well-controlled hand.

All of this happens in a singular forest clearing, brought to brilliant life by Abi Groves through a leaf-strewn stage and artfully placed stumps and foliage. As the actors look off into the unseen distance, Groves’ work makes it easy to imagine the dense, seemingly never-ending forest standing tall before them, and actors re-entering the space becomes easy to imagine as them emerging from behind the trees. Coupled with Chloe Kenward’s soft, muted lighting, it makes for a delightful visual before, during, and even after Kindling’s runtime.

With characters so specific, and at such specific moments in their lives, it’s easy to worry that it will be more of a challenge to connect with them. These five women are all middle-aged, menopausal or nearing it, and their lives are clearly shaped by the length and nature of their lives, and yet each is so familiar, so distinct in their personal quirks and foibles, that it becomes impossible not to feel a connection with them. All this group had in common was Mei, but we learn over two hours what drew her to each of them, and why all of them would be so precious to her as to be trusted with this final request.

Endlessly funny to the same degree that it is genuinely moving, Kindling demonstrates a real depth of understanding of its concepts and of its characters. As in a real life gathering, someone is always mucking something up, someone else getting a bit too nosy, or another person is making a comment that does not come across as intended. With so much going on, there’s never a moment that loses our collective interest, and the humour flies so high, and so naturally, that even the tears shed can’t keep the laughter at bay.

Kindling plays at the Park Theatre until November 15th

For tickets and information visit https://parktheatre.co.uk/events/kindling/

Photos by Holly Darville