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Extended Review – Spoiler Warning!
Adrift by Beverley Hancock-Smith, penned ‘a refugee fairytale’, is the story of two siblings and their mother, and their journey across the ocean. Produced by Action Transport Theatre, this children’s play was created in partnership with St. Bernard’s RC Primary School, who devised scenes, brainstormed ideas and lent their voices to the original music. The set is minimal and instead of extensive props, mime and ATT’s signature visual storytelling is employed to bolster themes of imagination and fantasy.
In previous tours, the play has opened with a charming shadow puppet animation projected onto the mast of a Lois Maskell’s beautiful, green sailboat. Octopuses, fish and mermaids flitted across the sail, and were replaced by two figures: a boy and a girl. This performance has chosen to cut this section, whether due to lack of a projector in St. Mary’s, or instead to commence with a more upbeat tone. I personally loved the animation and thought it established well the dream-like atmosphere tinged with melancholy. Nevertheless, as the lights come up, a drum roll sounds and the wide eyes of an 8 year old boy (adult, Vini Carvalho) appear over the edge of the boat. He clambers in headfirst and announces himself to be “First Mate Kalib, most fearsome pirate […] on our ship: the Green Pea”. His older sister, Mariam (also an adult - Carmen Arquelladas) accepts her “Cabin Boy” title exasperatedly before checking on their Mama (“Captain”), sleeping out of view.
This first section of the play sets the dynamics of the brother and sister relationship: Kalib jokes around while Mariam plays along indulgently, all while trying to look after everyone on board. A very effective piece of pretending is when Mariam finds a ‘leak’ in the boat, hands flailing and mouth spitting to create a torrent of water. Kalib stops the ‘water’ with his hands, then with his pirate hat, and then his backside, jumping up and pulling faces at the audience, much to the children’s delight. The play continues: sword fights, cannon fire, sea monsters rocking the boat. Each sequence of seemingly simple movement is meticulously choreographed by director Nina Hajiyianni to keep the excitable pace and to fit in with sound cues which add to the humour. But when Mariam tells the story of a mermaid, forbidden from making friends, the pair are reminded of classmates Sonny and Aram, who they couldn’t be friends with either. Mariam explains quietly – “Their father supported the war”. This reminder of the past breaks the spell, aided by a light change and the soft sound of crashing waves, which magnifies the children’s solitude. For the first time, we see them as they really are: two children alone and adrift at sea.
Mariam picks up the oar; Kalib puts away his pirate hat. Act Two marks a break from the fantasy and the tone is much more solemn. We learn how the family came to be on board the boat – the exposition is well-placed and gives us enough context for pathos without over-explanation or making their lives and story too specific. This is a story similar to thousands, after all. There are touching moments such as when Mariam imitates her mother’s advice about packing a warmer jacket: “You can’t have an adventure with cold ears”. Here, Hancock-Smith’s writing shines. Mariam’s tattle-taling on her brother (“Kalib packed his [bag] with Lego”) and Kalib’s defensive but oblivious response (“Not just Lego. Soldiers too”) perfectly capture the voice of children. It’s authentic, sweet and funny, and sold expertly by Carvalho and Arquelladas.
Kalib’s childishness however, and the pressure of caring for the boat’s precious cargo is soon too much for 12 year old Mariam and an argument ensues. Launched out of the boat in anger, the oar is gone, and with it all hope, leaving the children defenceless against a sudden storm which signals the peripety. Fans underneath a blue cloth cleverly conjure thrashing waves, while lightning flashes and thunder claps (both of which could have been a little brighter and louder) create the dramatic apex. The boat’s whimsical elements are torn away by reality: the ‘Green Pea’ sign, the teddy bear figurehead, and the mast with its twinkly lights, which knocks Mariam into the violent ocean. After a tense struggle, Kalib rescues her, and as the storm subsides, their roles are reversed.
Kalib covers Mariam with his jacket, just as she covered Mama with a blanket in the opening, completing a satisfying character arc. Hopeless, Mariam shivers while Kalib paddles determinedly with his hand. Against all odds, the younger brother finally sights land. As he removes his life jacket and steps down from the boat, he appears to age several years - a credit to Carvalho’s acting ability. But the relief and elation at reaching safety is bittersweet; Mama never wakes up. Kalib helps his older sister from the boat and Patrick Dineen’s accompanying music, aided by the children’s choir, is heartbreakingly beautiful. You can listen via Adrift's video trailer here:
It’s unclear, however, why Kalib retrieves the ‘Green Pea’ sign from behind the boat. To me, behind the boat is coded as ‘offstage’ and walking to it breaks the fourth wall and creates confusion about what is real and what isn’t. Perhaps Hajiyianni wanted this to read literally as the sign having washed up, or maybe the sign is simply symbolic of the children retaining their sense of adventure despite their hardship. It’s difficult - to retrieve anything from the boat itself and re-enter the space with Mama there would seem sacrilege, but anything from behind it feels odd. Perhaps Kalib finding a forgotten soldier from his pocket would have been a happy medium – a toy to symbolise a remaining fragment of childhood and the joy of imagination, but the figure of a combatant: a reminder of the war and the reason for their dangerous journey.
As the siblings step forward and stare out at us with a mixture of apprehension and optimism, we the audience are cast as their receiving nation. It’s uncomfortable but necessary. Their final gesture is the smallest but most important. They hold hands - a perfect and moving ending, and an action which symbolises the story as a whole.
Written with humour and tenderness, tightly choreographed, and performed with skill and chemistry, Adrift is a topical yet universal play about imagination, resilience and love, capable of connecting with children and adults alike. It’s a pearl of a play: small but perfectly formed, polished and beautiful.
Adrift tours across England and Wales until 13th March.
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