Synopsis Laura slept eight hundred years to be with her lover but now they have woken her up in 2879 - one hundred years too soon because she's run out of money. How do you reach the one you love across time and space and would you die to be with them? Running time: 55mins. Rating cert. 15 re:play Festival
Performed as part of Manchester’s ‘best of the fringe’ re:play festival, Killing Time’s Future Shock is a thoughtful and intriguing sci-fi drama.
Suspended in hyper-sleep for over a thousand years as part of a Nasa-funded science experiment, Laura expects to wake alongside her astro-physicist partner after the year 3000. When the programme maintaining Laura’s hyper-sleep runs out of funding, she is forcibly awoken 100 years early by an implacable corporation that thrives on bureaucracy. Stranded 800 years out of her own time, Laura must find a way of travelling 100 years to her lover.
Within the confines of a suitably claustrophobia-inducing monochrome set, the performances are energetic and assured. The cast of three have a real chemistry and under the eye of director Elisa Amesbury they create a clear and emotional story from Richard Stockwell’s dense and complex text.
The writing is strong. Quietly provocative, the narrative that unfolds set 800 years in the future is perhaps unsurprisingly timely and current. Raising questions of public and private responsibility and the ethics of technological and scientific development, Future Shock debates and demonstrates the space where art and science might meet.
That said, there are genuine moments of humour and lightness to be found within the piece, which is firmly centred around well-realised characters.
First performed as part of the 24:7 festival which champions local new writing, then selected here for The Library Theatre & The Lowry’s Re:play, Future Shock is a solid example of the high calibre, exciting work being produced on Manchester’s thriving fringe scene.
Imagine being forcibly woken after eight hundred years of suspended animation, to be faced by a heartless corporate clone informing you that the programme you signed up for has run out of money, so you’re going to be turned out into a society you can barely comprehend with no support whatsoever. This is the unenviable position that Laura, heroine of the play Futureshock, finds herself in. Back in 2030, with Earth going to hell in a handbasket, NASA funded an exploratory mission to an alternative planet many light-years away. To encourage people to sign up, they promised to deep-freeze their loved ones and reunite them in a thousand years’ time.
But NASA went bust centuries ago, Laura discovers that she’s the only person who survived the revivication process, and her partner’s mission won’t reach its destination in her lifetime. Worst of all, perhaps, humanity has found alternative solutions and nobody really cares.
Laura’s an appealing character, if a little dogmatic at times. A poet, passionate and romantic, she believes that she has been betrayed and that, regardless of the current circumstances, society is morally bound to honour the sacrifices that the original explorers made and underwrite them, regardless of cost. It’s an argument that cuts little ice with the glacial, cloned manager of the facility, Nicoletta. In her world, clones are accepted as completely human, legislation protects them from offensive language and the imperfections that, Laura feels, make her uniquely human are despised.
Between these two extremes, a male mediator, Stampfer, proposes a compromise. Laura will be humanely killed but everything about her, both physical and emotional, will be uploaded into a data file and made available to her partner, if and when he returns. The only alternative is for Laura to stay alive and live a miserable life on the fringes of society with no means of supporting herself.
What would you do?
If you’re a fan of Doctor Who, you might have come across this dilemma before. Back at the end of the 2008 series (we won’t go into details) the Doctor managed to grow a second version of himself, one that “had the same memories, same thoughts, same everything,” and left him in another universe with the woman he loved, as a kind of consolation prize. The storyline split Doctor Who fandom down the middle. Many saw it as a happy ending, giving those who appreciate such things a whole imaginative universe to play in. Others were appalled – how could you really love someone, and then settle for his double, while the original person continued to live and suffer without you?
For all its laughable plots, Doctor Who has often shown an uncanny knack for asking the questions that challenge us to define what makes us human. Futureshock does the same. Laura’s objection to the proposed solution is that the data file “won’t be the real me,” because already she’s had experiences, and laid down new memories, that won’t be included. But eventually she goes along with the proposal. I’d love to have seen a second act where we heard the arguments from her lover’s point of view, assuming he eventually got home.
Science fiction and theatre aren’t natural bedfellows. Maybe it’s because we tend to think of it as epic and spectacular. By contrast, Futureshock, a three-hander on a minimalist set, is a very intimate piece. But, in addition to establishing three characters who were more than just representatives of conflicting positions, it opened up all kinds of cans of worms, shedding light on the preoccupations of contemporary society. There was satire of the way that inhumane, financially-driven government welfare cuts are couched in impersonal language to remove their sting. There was commentary on our idolization of physical perfection and the fickleness of celebrity culture. However, it’s Laura’s philosophical dilemma that stays with me. - Ruth Waterton
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