Review of ‘CARE’: “Old-age narrative is far from greying”

Some enchanting evening… An elderly man sings Rogers and Hammerstein’s most romantic anthem to the bewilderment of his fellow residents. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know who he or any of them are. Until that very moment, he didn’t even know he could sing.

It’s a fascinating view. The kind that warms your heart while simultaneously tearing it open. It’s not an easy watch. Nothing in this show was. But despite the harrowing pain it so brilliantly inflicted on audiences last night, I guarantee I would have endured it again and again if I had been given the chance.

There’s hardly anything to criticise and a whole lot of praise in CARE, a new play by Alexander Zeldin (LOVE, The Confessions, The Other Place), which marks the author’s return to the Young Vic. Its simple name carries a deep, haunting meaning. On the literal side, it’s a direct, unornamented reference to what it depicts — with all its rewards, but also its unavoidable crudeness.

Its other reading falls into a more stirring box. It refers to a duality that’s as harsh as it is real. Some people do care. But others just don’t. As if society systematically condemns those who are withering to do it on their own. Their homes become prisons. Not because of the professional treatment, but due to the lack of attention they get from the outside.

In some way, its title serves as a call to action, taking on an imperative role. And, just like with this play, perhaps we should also start caring more about the real-life characters the show masterfully portrays.

If this sounds like an overanalytical approach, that’s because of the piece’s thought-provoking power. It is genuinely refreshing and most encouraging to witness such a flawless theatrical experience. Sharp, profound, and exceedingly moving, CARE takes on a two-hour journey of rough truthfulness through the lives and stories that intertwine in the lounge of a geriatric facility.

Be aware of its poignancy. And take it as a caution for the easily triggered. Because even those who aren’t will probably shed a tear or two throughout the performance. That is, if they don’t end up covered in them.

Zeldin’s script does an extraordinary job pulling at the heartstrings with absolute effortlessness. None of those elements comes across as forced or premeditated. The degree of instinct and organicness the text demonstrates consolidates his status as an extremely accomplished writer. His execution of structure, pacing, and emotional buildup is faultless and highly effective. And it permeates every single section of the piece.

The plot’s grip is instant. It solidifies from the very beginning, and it maintains its firmness throughout. Nothing in it feels like too much or too little. Everything is there for a reason, the primary one being authenticity. Its world unfolds to reveal itself just like it is, without any artistic licenses or overly manufactured devices. Plain reality painted by the visceral strokes of a perceptive playwright who understands dramaturgy as much as he understands the human soul.

The play excels at giving a voice to every character involved, all of whom are somewhat connected to the main plot. A seemingly capable old woman, Joan, is committed to a home after falling down and breaking her hip. She is introduced to some of her peers, but she isn’t keen on getting to know them. After all, she will just be there for a few weeks until she recovers and can get back home to her daughter and grandsons. At least, that’s what she hopes for.

As we sorrowfully observe both her physical and mental deterioration, further lines of suffering come into the picture. Joan’s daughter, Lynn, has recently lost her husband. She’s struggling to cope with the situation. Not only about her partner, but also the fact that her children, especially his elder one, have been repressing their grief, leading to more family dysfunction.

None of the personages is given a full arc. Not in a traditional way, that is. That is exactly the point. Far from coming off empty or sketchy, those unresolved parts capture the core message of the piece. Many things in life are left unfinished. And it’s either fate or one’s own decisions. For it’s not until it’s too late that we often gather the courage to solve them.

The production matches the writing’s quality in all respects. Rosanna Vize’s design brims with intelligence and resourcefulness. Intricately themed scenery transforms the auditorium into the play’s setting, blurring the lines between audience and characters. Its versatility is also laudable, transforming itself from the home’s living area into Joanna’s bedroom- and eventually, Lynn’s flat -with just a few quick changes provided by sliding walls and props additions.

The entire cast puts together a triumphant performance. Every rendition teems with genuineness. And every aspect of it is utterly impeccable. Their naturalistic approach is so astoundingly credible that it almost achieves a new level of hyper-realism. It never feels like acting. And that goes across all generations.

The highest praise goes to Linda Bassett and William Lawlor in the roles of Joan and Laurie, both of whom play their parts with exceptional prowess, swarming with profundity and emotiveness. Their delivery displays a complete comprehension of their personages, which pervades the way they present them — perhaps not supplying all the keys to the viewer, but using them for a powerful interpretation that overflows with elaborateness like no other.

You won’t be having a good time. Chances are, you might even suffer. But that shouldn’t prevent you from attending what’s admittedly the best new play in town. In a time when the standards of theatre seem to have reached a concerning low, this is precisely the kind of creation that might help restore the belief in better things to come. It took a story about the old to inject young blood into the London scene. And to ultimately grant it a beating heart.

All pictures credit to Johan Persson.

CARE plays at London’s Young Vic until 11 July. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara