Review of ‘After Sunday’: “Endearing play about mental illness doesn’t feel mania-worthy”

London’s Bush Theatre holds the world premiere of Sophia Griffin’s latest play, which explores the struggles of three mental health patients and their efforts to overcome a bleak past. Guillermo Nazara gives us a piece of his mind to let us know if the show deserves any craze.

It feels a little unsettling to be writing this review after reading the news about the machete guy strolling around Balham station. If you haven’t deduced it from the pictures, this story happens in a kitchen, and it stars a group of mentally ill individuals — one of whom killed his own mother (only one, though). It’s a challenging scenario, which inevitably leads to a bubbling pot of possibilities for conflict and drama. And to be fair, they’ve grasped a decent handful of them. The ingredients are all there, and so is its cooking. Yet, the seasoning is missing, or at least on a budget.

It’s a premise the 90s held a patent for, which Mad TV brilliantly summarised in their iconic skit. Misunderstood people, ostracised by a society who’s lost all hope in them. But everything is about to change with the arrival of a nice NHS lady, who will help them bake their problems away and put a new future in the oven. Nothing can stop her. No one has the chops to do it.

Half-done puns aside, Sophia Griffin’s core narrative brims with strength and humanity. Despite its setting, the script rejects any morbid attitudes towards the topic of mental disorder — quite the opposite. All the characters exhibit heart and individuality. Contrary to previous works, their clinical struggles don’t define who they are. It’s a relevant aspect in their lives — otherwise, they wouldn’t be where they are. Yet, the real focus is on their relationships, dreams, and singularities.

One fantasizes about opening a restaurant when he’s discharged, and can’t count the minutes until that day comes. Neither can the rest, hoping to be reunited with their estranged relatives, who stepped away after experiencing their manic episodes first-hand.

The text bursts with optimism, delivering a compellingly sympathetic look into the outcast archetype. We can instantly connect with these men and feel their strife. Their presence is both haunting and resonant. They stay with us long after the performance is finished, as they all possess that rare quality that permeates on a visceral level, and we can’t do anything but keep caring.

The dialogue is generally well-crafted. Overall, there is flow and adequate depth. The humour, however, isn’t as polished. Hardly ever do the jokes land. There are some endearing moments that can make us chuckle, but for that to occur, audiences will be required to do half of the job. If we laugh, it’s because we like them, not because it’s actually funny, or as the author seems to think, sharp.

Although their independent arcs are solid, none of them is fully resolved. There is a journey we are taken on, which is driven by insight and soulfulness. Yet, parts of it still come off slightly sketchy.

All the necessary elements are in place, but some are more elaborate than others. The bonds and clashes among the onstage personages are well-grounded, but their relationships with the external characters aren’t as thorough, feeling a bit vague and rushed. In addition, the script doesn’t delve into their separate backgrounds in a satisfactory manner, offering just a few strokes of a potentially much more intricate picture — and consequently, far more impactful.

The renditions are executed with competence, displaying occasional flair and sustained rapport, which helps mask their fluctuant lack of subtext. Aimée Powell earns a first mention as the diligent NHS worker, Naomi, through a portrayal that deftly encapsulates the role’s resilient spirit and desperation. The greatest praise goes, nonetheless, to David Webber as Leroy, whose effortlessly nuanced interpretation conquers the hearts of every member of the audience and subsequently cracks them.

The foundation is robust. The structure stands by itself. And although it’s unlikely to collapse, After Sunday needs more polish to be considered a complete work. Despite the high standards of its raw materials, the show should undergo a few extra tweaks, and probably start by removing the melodramatic and rather off-putting dance transitions between scenes. It’s all right if some segments remain purposely unstable, but this play especially should avoid the unhinged.

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After Sunday plays at London’s Bush Theatre until 20 December. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara