‘This is not a corona play,” the production notes state. It is not quite a Christmas play either, or not as we know it. Where many venues are reaching for the safety of a well-worn festive story to see us out of lockdown darkness, the Almeida is doing something different: this is a Christmas show with only fleeting acknowledgments of Christmas, even if there are some passing carols.
Devised during the second lockdown by a company of actors and musicians with the writer Chris Bush and director Rebecca Frecknall, it should be commended for its boldness, although the end result feels rough-hewn and ponderous despite its song and music.
It takes place on a circular stage with logged wood as the backdrop, which creates a warm, campfire feel as the lights are dimmed and the spirit of storytelling is invoked. The opening speaks in folkloric language of gods and a plague of thorns on humankind. We prepare ourselves for an ancient, pagan story – although the analogy to the pandemic is all too apparent – but it flips to today and fractures into multiple, episodic strands.
One couple (Katie Brayben and Luke Thallon) breaks up. Another (Naana Agyei-Ampadu and Toheeb Jimoh) argues about attending a Black Lives Matter protest during lockdown. A man (Elliot Levey) recounts a recipe for banana bread. More gratingly, an advertising agency brainstorms ways to repackage Christmas, and a character (Brayben) comes on stage to declare that being alone is not the same as loneliness, sneering at those who feel the latter: “Loneliness is the terror of not being able to dilute your own terrible personality.” Given the rates of loneliness among elderly and infirm people over lockdown, her generalisations – without greater context – sound obnoxious, even if they are meant to be empowering within her (upcoming) plot line.
More and more, it is clear that this is a corona play, but that in itself is not the problem. There are a few funny moments (a courier, played by Jimoh, speaks of delivering everything from sex toys to crossstitch to wealthy London postcodes) and some of it is touching – but not enough. The sketches feel too sketchy, the characters remain shadowy and the dramatic devices – scenes often begin in mid-conversation – just feel too much like dramatic devices. It might have been more successful had the writing been better refined and more penetrating.
Maimuna Memon’s music is a soothing addition: there is a live guitar, piano and accordion around the stage, and the songs have a folksy sound. The singing voices are strong and the performances in themselves are accomplished, even if the drama leaves us perplexed. Nine Lessons and Carols shows great strength of character in its risk-taking, so it is regretful that the risks do not pay off.
