Imagine there’s a box. And inside that box is God. You can look inside, but be killed instantly afterwards; or live without knowing what’s waiting in the dark.
The question of this box dominates the set of Mike Bartlett’s newest play 13, in which everyone wakes up at the exact same time having had the exact same dream - or rather nightmare. At the centre of a swiftly moving re-imagining of nightmarish current events (student protests, war in the Middle East, riots), is John, a question in himself. A man who stands upon a bucket in the park preaching the power of belief, and rallying immense support as an internet sensation, Bartlett illustrates the place that social media plays in uniting our ‘protest’ generation. John (a welsh William Wallace played enigmatically by Trystan Gravelle) becomes the messiah of a new-age belief system: the power of the individual, working together for common good.
John argues that belief makes the individual and it is this multiplicity which the characters thrive upon as a unit and gives this play an incredible vivacity which absolutely captures this decade. One could argue that the cast and content is far too sprawling for any emotional engagement to leak through but the vignettes are so sophistically interwoven and extremely engaging to a relevant viewer (i.e. I could have started a student riot then and there). Bartlett’s play is one that makes you want to scream out (or like the pensioner does, throw a trolley at a bank) for the state we’re in. This is drastically contrasted with the stasis of the second half, more parliament than play, as John and the Tory Prime Minister debate the dichotomy of the country: is it right for thousands to die at war, if it will perhaps save thousands from death by nuclear weapons?
The thing hidden in the box is this grey area: the distinction between right and wrong. Mark Henderson’s moody blue lighting illustrates the dominating political backdrop throughout that is exactly that: a filter. The PM, played spot on by Geraldine James, is the manager of right and wrong, not the bringer; and must make unpopular compromises. As a reflection of this dose of reality, Thea Sharrock’s abstract conception of 13 terrifies the viewer with the idea of democracy is little more than a dream. Tom Scutt’s towering design captures the unease of events translated through the dark, hard images of insomnia. Thankfully the edgy animation of 13 reminds us that perhaps we have finally woken up and won’t let this nightmare haunt us any longer.
The artful combination of Sharrock and Bartlett is so contemporary there’s a Boris bike onstage and a pensioner singing Rhianna. 13 is simply unmissable, contextually the play of the decade.
