THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
By Chloë Moss
Donmar Warehouse, 41 Earlham Street, Seven Dials, London WC2H 9LX until August 15, 2026
The marks the welcome return to the London stage of Russell Tovey and it may only be an hour long but it’s edge of your seat stuff, with an ending that will have you arguing on the way out with your friends (or even strangers) about what just happened.
It’s directed by the theatrical visionary Felix Barrett, the creative force behind the internationally acclaimed company Punchdrunk who specialize in vast site-specific immersive productions. The Donmar may be a small palette for him, but he does wonders here in ratcheting up the tension until there is an increasing sense that everything is not all that it seems.
Tovey is perfect casting as Joe, a troubled, obviously demoted, London copper, fielding emergency calls through the night shift. He combines a raw ‘geezer’ masculinity with the underlying sensitivity to embody this man whose life appears to be imploding, while putting in the hours in an incredibly stressful job. In calls with his mates they wish him well for “tomorrow” and an apparent hearing.
A few stolen moments on the phone with his 6-year-old daughter provide some relief but the call is abruptly cut off by his estranged wife. Again we sense all is not well. These emotions get tangled further with the 999 calls with the distressed Emily, who appears to have abandoned her own 6-year-old daughter in a flat together with her baby son, among other problems.
The piece is an excellent on the pressure cooker existence of these call handlers and their incredible skill in scrambling to decode fragmented clues from distressed people or young children and to get very precise information to colleagues who then dispatch police cars. So much of it is a race against time, keeping people talking long enough for GPS to track locations, and dealing with all sorts of people in crazy situations. It’s funny, too, about those who waste emergency services time complaining about the relatively trivial, or situations where they have obviously been culpable but want someone else to clean up their mess. Moss’s dialogue here is exceptional having the grit of great TV crime writing.
Designer Alex Eales wonderfully bleak, gray, windowless phone room, with plastic coverings on unused desks, adds to the mood of claustrophobia, but does raise a rather existential question about this piece; why he Joe just seen on his own?
The real star here is Gareth Fry’s utterly unsettling soundscape, and this bring us to the subject of the ending, and my lips must be sealed from here on. Audience members are handed cards on the way out asking them to keep the ending a secret. When looking back on this year on stage, this one won’t be forgotten. A special case and a devilishly well executed psychological thriller. I have my reservations about the overall premise but can say no more! Don’t miss it.
