The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars has a tragically familiar story of race hate at its centre: a black man, Seun, has been beaten to death in an unprovoked attack on the streets of London. His white assailants are in court and the swarming press, the attackers’ families, and Seun’s broken twin sister, Femi, all await the verdict.
The story comes filtered through Femi (Kibong Tanji), who, in her grief-soaked anger, watches the drama unfold in the courtroom but seeks to avenge her brother’s death through a more Old Testament form of justice, enacting fantasies of murderous violence and revenge.
Delivered as a high energy monologue, the most striking element of this production is Tanji’s outstanding and impassioned performance. Nadia Fall’s direction keeps the stage filled with movement and pace while Tanji performs with a physicality that is visceral and transporting. When she bursts into song, her voice is astounding. Emotionally unpinned by her anger, she resembles a Greek fury whose rage has made her blind with bloodlust. But in her more melancholic moments, she has shades of Hamlet: young, alone and haunted by her brother in supernatural interludes though here she is the restless spirit, rather than him. It is a magnificent performance even if it lacks the necessary breaths of quietness between the emotional storms.
The other remarkable feature is Peter McKintosh’s stage design which is box-like and empty but for its slashed walls, denoting violence. Over the course of the drama, it is filled with Oliver Fenwick’s lighting design, which becomes a sensational substitute for a physical set and props. Together, the set and lighting create a gothic mood and encapsulate a sense of melodrama. Tingying Dong’s sound design occasionally leavens it with Motown hits or urban beats as Femi has a flashback to a happy memory, but then sets us back on edge.
Dipo Baruwa-Etti’s script is written in verse: lies smarm like bees, Femi says, “and they sting me”. There is bathos, warmth and urban patois too which anchors the drama in contemporary London, with eye-rolling references to EastEnders, bus commutes and Burberry.
Sometimes it soars, the language alive and poetic. There are times when it explains itself too much, but these expositions only come in occasional flashes (“Yoruba people are more likely to have twins,” we are told at the beginning).
Femi’s story is a focused study of a state of grief that is led by angered injustice and sometimes we wish for more tonal variety. But it is dynamic and gripping in its fury and could well develop into a longer, more textured play about race hate, justice, grief and loss.
At Theatre Royal Stratford East, London until 19 June
