It's What Really Happened To Him: Reviewing 'The Fear of 13' at the Donmar

★★★★ | Walking into the Donmar Warehouse, I wasn’t sure what to expect from The Fear of 13, a dramatised adaptation of the 2015 documentary about Nick Yarris – a man who spent 22 years on death row for a rape and murder that he did not commit. I am generally wary of theatrical adaptations of existing films, books, or documentaries (and god forbid the movie musical adaption of a musical based on a movie), for fear of it being staged primarily for commercial benefit, which often results in bad theatre. But 1 hour and 45 minutes later, I emerged impossibly moved by the endurance of the human spirit. 

The Fear of 13 resembles a live documentary: flitting between moments of expository directly delivered into the eyes of the audience and vignettes of Nick Yarris' prison life, while charting his developing relationship with Jacqueline Schaffer – a prison volunteer who fought for his innocence and who would eventually become his wife. Over the course of the play, this amounts to an emotive and narratively-driven account of Yarris’ life story, told with extraordinary candour and humanity. 

Aidan Kelly and Adrien Brody in The Fear of 13. Photo Credit: Manuel Harlan

What starts out as exposition, cleverly woven into an ongoing interview between our main characters Nick and Jackie, becomes powerful monologues, artfully revealing the many puzzle pieces that pieced together Yarris’ life and wrongful incarceration. The direct address to the audience is an ingenious touch – an essential component of the play that allows Yarris to build an incredibly personal relationship with not just the other characters, but also the audience members themselves. As a steadfast believer in ‘show, don’t tell’, this might possibly be the only time I ever enjoyed exposition used in a play, or felt that it was necessary.

Though initially witty and tongue-in-cheek, Lindsey Ferrentino’s dialogue succeeds in creating an open, honest conversation between Yarris and the audience by the end of the play. The gradual shift from surface-level humour to full vulnerability in the latter half organically recreates the getting-to-know-you stage of any relationship, connecting every viewer to Yarris on a deeply personal level.

From a technical perspective, the show does not lack. Set designer Miriam Buether masterfully evokes an atmosphere of surveillance and imprisonment, from warning signs around the Circle level to CCTV camera footage of the performance space on four small TV screens. Of particularly symbolic significance is the bleak and empty central stage resembling a prison shower – the place where any inmate is most vulnerable. By setting most of the action in this space, Olivier-winning director Justin Martin (of Prima Facie and Stranger Things: The First Shadow fame) and Buether add yet another layer to Yarris’ growing vulnerability as the play progresses.

The company of The Fear of 13. Photo Credit: Manuel Harlan

Lighting (by Jon Clark) in the prison is kept either dim or stark, and in both ways mercilessly cold – contrarily, scenes of ‘home life’ or ‘the world’ espouse an almost unearthly glow. Through the distinct separation of worlds between the prison and beyond, we get to observe a visual representation of the insurmountable gap between Jackie and Nick – a forewarning of the ultimate failure of their relationship. 

After one of the play’s opening lines introduces the idea that silence is strictly enforced in prison, Ben and Max Ringham’s alternating use of soundscapes and silence divides prison life from the rest of the world. Even more powerful is the soulful, live choral singing from the ensemble that underscores certain points in the story, creating moments of dreamlike hope throughout the show. Despite the lack of an interval, the impeccable pacing of dialogue, sharp entrances and exits, plus a constantly evolving set, sustain the play’s momentum throughout, without letting theatregoers ever fall into bouts of boredom. 

Adrien Brody is particularly riveting to watch; over a play that spans close to a decade timeline-wise, the changes in physicality that he embodies clearly illustrate the hope that is repeatedly offered and taken away, and the weight of time as it chips away at his soul. He brings an incredible charisma to Nick Yarris – the kind that makes you root for him before he even begins asserting his innocence. His performance comes opposite the incredible Nana Mensah, with her heartbreaking portrayal of Jackie from a PhD student to the weary wife of an innocent convict, and they are both supported by the rest of the excellent cast. 

Adrien Brody and Nasa Mensah in The Fear of 13. Photo Credit: Manuel Harlan

By the end, I was nothing short of captivated by this story, and the way it humanises death row inmates with warmth and compassion. It reminded me of another largely similar account I had once read about: of Ronald Cotton, who was wrongfully convicted of rape based on faulty eyewitness testimony, sentenced to life, and eventually exonerated on the basis of DNA evidence. Like Yarris, Cotton had spent over a decade serving time in prison, but eventually reconciled with his victim, Jennifer Thompson, who had mistakenly identified him as her rapist more than ten years before. 

While The Fear of 13 does not have as joyful a conclusion as Cotton’s story, at its heart it remains a testament to the power of steadfast determination and hope. But perhaps simultaneously, a tragic narrative about the cruelty of clinging onto such hope, and the chokehold it has on the convicted’s sense of self when it is ripped away. 

★★★★

The Fear of 13 plays at the Donmar Warehouse until 30 November. For more information on wrongful convictions and DNA exonerations, visit https://innocenceproject.org.