Choosing Change in This Journey to the 'Otherland': An Almeida Theatre Review

★★★ | In a world rife with catcalls, unwanted approaches, and gendered expectations of domesticity, who would willingly choose to be a woman? 

The dialogues surrounding womanhood are complex and multidimensional, and the 2.5 hours that Otherland spans brush only the tip of the iceberg. Yet, it is imperative that such plays exist, because they explore an experience that is often so difficult to put into words – an experience that can only be qualitatively felt, and never quite sufficiently articulated or described to someone who has never been through it themselves. In line with this, the play opens with our lead characters, Jo and Harry (played by Jade Anouka and Fizz Sinclair), at the end of their marriage, as they seek to rediscover their identities and priorities exclusive of each other. 

The company of Otherland. Photo Credit: Marc Brenner

Led by an all-female cast, Chris Bush’s Otherland is almost an antithesis to Eline Arbo’s The Years – another feminist play that also debuted at the Almeida (and is currently playing at the Harold Pinter Theatre). Unlike the latter’s depiction of a ‘collective’ experience that characterises the female narrative, Bush delves into the complexity and breadth of experiences that exist within womanhood itself. Directed by Ann Yee, Otherland is unmistakably contemporary, encompassing a dialogue that responds to the everyday scenarios faced by women in the 21st century. Touching on the discourse around transgender rights, pregnancy, surrogacy, and the intersectionality of feminism, it raises the fundamental questions of ‘Who am I?’, ‘What am I willing to give up for myself?’, and ‘What am I willing to give up for the ones I love?’

A crucial element of the play lies in its portrayal of the female journey as a form of metamorphosis, where change is a necessary component to move forward. In particular, Otherland draws parallels between transitioning and pregnancy. This is a hugely refreshing comparison and one I’d never seen made before. In doing so, Bush highlights a shared experience between two women embarking on distinct life trajectories. This serves to enhance the idea that the women – whilst vastly different in character – retained a rudimentary congruity that tied them together in gender. In a breathless moment of pure intensity at the end of the first act, Jo and Harry start the processes of pregnancy and hormone therapy respectively. Standing across from each other at centre stage, both articulate the biological changes that they undergo as their bodies are fundamentally altered into something new, driving home the theme of change. 

This is a decidedly contemporary piece of theatre, following the general linear timeline of Jo and Harry’s lives throughout, characterised by moments of narration from Jo and Harry. While such moments were useful in establishing their journeys, I do feel that they took away from the intensity of the narrative, creating a lull in pacing that made me tune out at various points. (Though, I must admit that I have my reservations against storytelling theatre in general – I’m a firm believer that dialogue and subtext make for much more interesting revelations than full exposition through narration.)

The company of Otherland. Photo Credit: Marc Brenner

Nonetheless, the second act picks right back up, launching audiences into a deeply metaphorical and abstract setting that plays out across two parallel narratives where Jo is a futuristic cyborg-surrogate for her partner’s child, and Harry is a fish-human creature attempting to integrate into a society on land. Despite its potential for coming off as disjointed and abrupt, the transition away from naturalism was executed incredibly smoothly. In fact, for a play with a lengthy runtime, it was highly advantageous, as the change in setting kept me engaged throughout the second act. 

The two leading ladies are exceptional in their roles. Anouka is electric onstage, with an incredibly dynamic physicality in the first act that contrasts heavily against her intense stillness in the second act. Sinclair, meanwhile, is deeply affective, with a melodic lilt to her voice that affords such hurt and longing that I found my heartstrings pulled impossibly taut. Supporting them is an ensemble of women who shift their characterisation to take on multiple roles in 21st-century society, as well as the fictional worlds that we become immersed in during the second act. We see glimpses of a supportive girlfriend group, a mother, a train-platform-misogynist, and a doctor with a paternal saviour complex (not unlike Willem Dafoe in Yorgos Lanthimos’ Poor Things).

With this distinctly female-centric narrative, it is clear that Otherland was written with a target audience of women in mind. Over the course of the play, we are immersed in the various relationships between women, be they romantic, platonic, or familial. Perhaps this is the reason behind my connection to the play on a personal level, despite the specific experience of transitioning being vastly beyond anything I’ve ever experienced as a woman – an achievement I see as no easy feat. Having been raised in a largely female household and educated in a girls’ school for ten years, the qualitative depiction of female dynamics, solidarity, and support resonated with me deeply. 

The company of Otherland. Photo Credit: Marc Brenner

Driven by textual rhythm and music (composed by Jennifer Whyte, with sound design by Pete Malkin), Otherland invokes a strong sense of ebb and flow, which aligns extremely well with the idea of a cycle of change and rebirth. With moments of folk-like song and intricate vocal harmonies, the individual female identities meld together to form a literal chorus of women who propel the story forward. Accompanying this is the persistent reference to vivid imagery of the ocean, wings, and flight – all highly effective in illustrating the concepts of journeying and change. 

Anna Watson’s lighting is instrumental in evoking the themes at the crux of this play, such as the passage of time, otherness, isolation, and the separate (but parallel) trajectories of Jo and Harry’s lives. With the use of blue and red hues for Jo and Harry respectively, Watson creates the sci-fi and fantasy worlds that our heroines inhabit during the second act, interspersed with occasional snatches of reality lit with stark halogen spotlights. When presented alongside the lyricism of the text and its music, Otherland presents itself as a deeply poetic visual and auditory experience, bursting with metaphor and emotion. If there is one element that I did not enjoy, it would be the needless reiteration of the lyric “the world is f*cked” at various moments – a valid but tacky and juvenile reminder of a reality that I’m sure many in the audience (including myself) were plainly aware of, which detracted from the poignancy of the text. 

Overall, Otherland is a deeply reflective and affective watch, packing several emotional gut punches and portraying womanhood and the many changes it encompasses in a way that I have rarely considered. Through the lenses of two women and their specific experiences of transitioning and pregnancy, it opens up a dialogue about women’s rights, the expectations we shoulder in relation to the ‘standard’ female trajectory, and the choices we make in the pursuit of fulfilment.

★★★

Otherland plays at the Almeida Theatre until 15 March.