Review: A SLOW FIRE, Jermyn Street Theatre

The apocalypse has come and gone, and Ashton and Reece are still alive in a bunker at the edge of an unnamed town. The world as they knew it doesn’t exist anymore, so they spend their days reminiscing about the before times. They rehash moments that gave them hope and reenact them. Suddenly, a stranger appears at their door with a generator and meat. Simon Stephens debuts a brand new play, blending absurdist dread with sharp social commentary, but getting lost on the way to his own endgame.

Ross Gaynor (Ashton) and Ian Toner (Reece) are our unlikely platonic couple. The first is a theologian and a professor, the latter the college porter. Toner’s social awkwardness and exuberant ingenuity balance Gaynor’s reserved mind as well as his tendencies to intellectualise everything very well. This allows Stephens to dive into sequences of profound depth before resurfacing with humour. The irony sneaks up on you before a sense of acute melancholy descends upon the characters.

Director Rex Ryan hardly exploits these clever shifts in tone, unfortunately. While most of the scenes establish an impeccable pace, the transitions are utterly uninspired in their long and unnecessary blackouts. Combined with the repetitive platitudes of the writing, they weigh the production down, stunting the impetus of the narrative by interrupting the flow of Stephens’ dialogue.

A clear picture of what Ashton and Reece’s lives were like before the unknown catastrophe that hit the population emerges from their sentimental vignettes. These self-conclusive exercises punctuate the piece, kick-starting superficial reflections on the meaning and necessity of hope, questioning the nature and role of humanity, and presenting the absurdity of survival. A gentle exploration of masculinity also lightly leads the work into themes of codependence, CPTSD, grief, sexuality, and the performativity of gender. 

The subtext is rife with provocations, but the project doesn’t lean into it properly enough for it to shine. Ashton and Reece’s Beckettian circumstances are crashed by Presley, a mysterious figure who’s been wandering the land for months by himself. Reece’s bonhomie subtly clashes with Ashton’s suspicions, but they welcome him to their grey abode. Once Fionn Ó Loingsigh has disturbed our duo’s stability, Stephens’ play starts to lose its grip. The philosophical sphere suffers from this shambolic plot twist, and the show becomes predictable and slow. 

Ultimately, it’s difficult to single out what Stephens wants to say here. Leaving aside the logistics of the events, which only make sense when you don’t look into them too much, the story feels flat. Even running at two hours (plus an interval), where the first half consists of a lengthy set-up for the second act, the ending is muddled and rushed. The company is charming and the characters most definitely grow on you, but it’s rather indecisive and inconclusive in its aims. 

A Slow Fire runs at Jermyn Street Theatre until 26 September.

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