In the Republic of Happiness review, The Royal Court

Happy only after

The Republic of Happiness for the punters at the Royal Court Downstairs, begins, it would appear, outside the theatre. Which is why so many left before the end of Martin Crimp's new play.  Crimp's work is abstract and demands full concentration as the audience places its own narrative over proceedings. To do that for one hour and fifty minutes without an interval is too big an ask.

The opening scene is a cracker. A standard British family, desperate for intimacy but unable to either deliver or receive it, is falling out over a Christmas meal. They are eating in semi-darkness because the father has removed the light bulbs to conserve energy. The look is regular, the feel is futuristic. The stories and accusations delivered across the table in staccato spurts, are contradictory. Suddenly, through a wall, Uncle Rob appears, verbally eviscerating each of them on behalf of his girlfriend. His bile takes in stories we've already heard. What is the truth when there are so many versions? The tension is razor sharp.

With the appearance of the girlfriend comes a wonderfully Rocky Horror Show moment when she grabs a mike and turns the event into a song. This morphs us into a second act where the characters are on an interview platform ruminating on what makes each of us unique. The constantly overlapping words, phrases and reminiscences building a litany of complaint, demonstrate how we configure shared experiences and understanding in different ways turning them into patchworks of meaning. None of it is happy. That's probably the point.

In Conclusion: There are some very funny songs including a vicious ditty by two sisters in the opening minutes on how they'll treat their husbands. The second scene change is fantastic. Unfortunately, the middle hour lets it down.

References
Royal Court Theatre, tickets
Michael Billington review in The Guardian