In the grand scheme of things, we haven’t had it so bad; us twenty somethings I mean. As a generation, we’ve managed to evade the atrocities of famine and civil war. We have access to education, health care and free travel. We have gadgets, gizmos, apps and appliances to enhance every aspect of our very existence. Not much to complain about, right?
But good fortune (as it may be) breeds great expectation, and great expectation breeds disappointment. In a world of parties, pills and instant gratification, what happens when the party’s over and you’re left feeling empty?
You Can’t Just Leave There’s Always Something, an interactive, site specific play by Spilt Gin, is a story about disillusionment and discontent. As Laura decides to make a new start in Australia, striving to find the kind of happiness she never managed in Dublin, she leaves behind a doting brother and sickly grandmother. Hoping that nothing will change, and realising that everything does, this is a play about grappling with the quarter life crisis, the struggle between obligation, expectation and reality.
The drive to the ‘mystery’ location, a dilapidated Georgian house in suburban Dublin, was nostalgically fun, as actors feigning drunk party-goers engaged anyone willing to participate in conversation. Though, despite having a five minute chat with one entertaining character, I was still at a loss as to what exactly was going on.
Following the jovial, interactive nature of the bus journey, the opening scene, a series of poignant, overly-theatrical intersecting monologues was jarring and impossible to follow. Huddling in the corners in awkward silence, it was difficult to discern what exactly was expected from us, which created a palpable discomfort among the audience. Yet progressing through the house, piecing together the narrative in every room, the mood became more relaxed. Within a half an hour, audience members were happily slouching on miscellaneous bits of furniture, munching on sandwiches and sipping on the beer proffered to them by enthusiastic party goers.
The play is cleverly structured, fluently travelling between three night’s events in the one house, a leaving party, a house party and a funeral. Swift costume changes situate the scene with intelligent clarity and the intersecting storylines unwind at perfect pace. The ensemble cast are strong, charming and relatable, and by the end of the hour, it is impossible not to feel a genuine investment.
At times, I felt as though I was only beginning to engage when we were shuffled in silence to another room in the vast house, and there was some confusion around the shifting dynamic of fly-on-the-wall to guest at a party, although overall these were minor difficulties posed by the nature of site specific work in itself.
This play has none of the high drama of murder, deception, or lust. But Split Gin have managed to find real tragedy in this stark, unembellished tale. I’m not convinced how well the story would resonate with older audiences. In fact, I can almost hear them now. ‘Bloody spoilt grumbling brats…don’t know how good they’ve got it…In my day…’ But there is something about this play that seems to capture the frustrated restlessness of a disheartened youth who were promised the world, but didn’t quite like it when they got it.
Rosemary McKenna
