In London, you are apparently never more than a few feet from a rat, but we seldom actually see one. It can be the same with human beings. Rob and Sarah live just inches apart from each other in a block of London flats, but they have never met. Both are walled up in their individual homes, which are like coffins with all mod cons. Rob, recently released from the army, is still coming to terms with the loss of the girlfriend he wanted to marry; Sarah has never recovered from a teenage betrayal and suffers from agoraphobia. Her flat has become her prison; the doubts in her head personified by three physical presences who have the air of well-mannered but menacing undertakers.
Created by a group of Lamda graduates, Inches Apart is winner of this year's Old Vic New Voices Theatre 503 Award, which gives an emerging company the
opportunity to develop an idea through to finished show. It flickers with real
promise and has more bright ideas than it sometimes knows what to do with: both characters are caught up in different kinds of web, but Sarah's reliance on technology, DVDs and the internet, is depicted in a manner that is very clever, if eventually a bit irritating.
Like a great deal of fledgling devised work, its weakness is in scripting – though there is a blistering if overlong monologue towards the end – and storytelling. The time frame is slightly confusing. How long has Rob been away, and why did nobody call the police? How does Sarah support herself?
Despite the cavils, this is a fragile, sparky work , beautifully designed and lit. It offers a crack of optimism with little sentimentality: one door opens, but another slams shut with the finality of a coffin lid.
