"Better a fallen rocket than never a burst of light."
~ Tom Stoppard, The Invention of Love

Monday, April 15, 2024

All of Us (2022)

It’s been a while since I’ve written about a National Theatre production. Not because I’m not interested in them, of course—when I logged into my subscription to pull up the cast list from this play, I saw that they have a new recording of a play with Peter Capaldi, yes please!—but just because my brain’s been pulling me in other directions lately. Oscar season, neurodivergence, Our Flag Means Death; take your pick. But I watched this play last year and wanted to circle back around to talking about it.

Jess, a therapist with cerebral palsy, prides herself on being upbeat and making the best of things. But reforms to the disability benefits system in the U.K. mean her latest reassessment didn’t go her way, and now she’s struggling to maintain her practice without the accommodations she needs. She meets Poppy, a wheelchair user in her building with dwarfism, and the younger, more outspoken woman urges her to get mad about how the government is treating them.

Okay, so the play definitely has its preachy moments, and there are times when the characters feel a bit more like mouthpieces, but the story doesn’t get lost within the message, and I appreciate seeing a play featuring so many disabled characters, all of whom are treated as individuals with their own perspectives. In addition to Jess and Poppy, we meet a woman with severe phobias and a man with permanent injuries and PTSD sustained in military service. We see people with conditions that are disabling, even if they’re not always viewed as disabilities—one of Jess’s patients is an alcoholic in rehab, and her roommate Lottie is pregnant.

It's evident that this is a play that’s coming from a disabled voice (comedian Francesca Martinez, who also plays Jess.) I’ve seen plenty of stories about disabled characters, and in a lot of them, the disability is the largest source of struggle, something to “overcome.” I mean, the characters’ disabilities definitely do give them grief, and they’re not shy about the details—Jess’s PIP reassessment for benefits involve having to list all the many things she can’t do without assistance, and there’s a scene where Poppy talks Lottie through the processes of putting a diaper on her.

However, the focus of the story is not on the characters’ disabilities but on the broken system that forces them to jump through demoralizing hoops for scraps of assistance. The reason Poppy needs a diaper is because her overnight care has been cut off, and she can’t get up by herself to go to the bathroom at night. Jess can’t do up buttons or pour cereal by herself, but she can work as a therapist, helping people while earning a wage and paying taxes—until her reassessment determines she no longer needs an adapted car, meaning she can no longer get to her office. We see the seemingly arbitrary rulings that send massive shockwaves through people’s quality of life, the lengthy appeals process leaves them in need for months and saps them of hope, and the politicians who spout slogans and congratulate themselves for trimming the budget while ignoring the very real lives that are falling through the cracks with their penny pinching.

Like I said, Francesca Martinez does double duty as the playwright and the lead actress. As Jess, we watch how her relentless cheerful façade is slowly chipped away, revealing the pain and frustration she sublimates beneath the smiles and jokes. Another Francesca in the cast, Francesca Mills, plays Poppy. Mills attacks the role with wicked humor and passion, and Poppy takes no prisoners from the moment she appears onstage. I also really like Kevin Hely as Henry, a frustrated disabled vet who isn’t prepared to take the government’s treatment lying down. Other than Martinez, the only other actor I recognized was Bryan Dick as Aidan, Jess’s alcoholic patient. I remember first seeing Dick in the Torchwood episode “Adam,” and whenever I’ve seen him pop up since them, he seems to specialize in playing assholes. Aidan kind of fits that bill, but in a more nuanced way.

Warnings

Strong thematic elements (including suicide,) language, drinking/smoking, gross-out moments, sexual content, disturbing imagery, and violence.

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