Kin at the National Theatre – review

It takes a while for this new physical theatre piece from Gecko to make its impact, but once it does the effect is chilling. Whether the very pointed message it carries will change many minds is another matter.

Inspired by the story of Gecko director Amit Lahav’s grandmother, who escaped persecution in Yemen, as well as those of the international ensemble, Kin centres on stories of oppression and resultant migration that may be specific to certain times but could be set in any age.

Delivered mostly wordlessly, we see a family experiencing the nightmare of totalitarian rule (their clothes are marked with a yellow stripe). In sadly familiar scenes they are threatened by soldiers and disappear behind doorways as their identity is systematically erased. Other stories of persecution are interwoven, delivered in a mix of languages, until we see a collective of terrified individuals floundering in life jackets, blowing their whistles to no effect. The implication of where they are doesn’t need to be spelled out.

The production, devised by the ten-strong cast (which includes Lahav), sees the performers move almost symbiotically, telling the story in a series of tableaux. It opens with some vigorous folk dance and plays out to a soaring, cinematic score from Dave Price that shows influences from klezmer to classical. The lighting, designed by Chris Swain, is similarly broad in texture, including strobing spotlights that accentuate the relentless pounding of the regime, and bright washes that illuminate Rhys Jarman’s expansive but spare design.

But despite its visual impact the narrative is disjointed, at times bordering on incomprehensible; it doesn’t help that the lines between eras and families blurred to the point of indistinguishability. But, to be generous, this is perhaps its point. These are snatches of so many similar stories, all linked by the simple fact of being people in need of safe harbour. The sort of people, in other words, our government is currently trying to send to Rwanda.

It’s undoubtedly preaching to a choir, and seems almost laser targeted to wind up anyone who regularly uses ‘woke’ as a pejorative or reads a certain daily paper. But for most, its blunt message – delivered at the close by the cast who step forward in turn to tell us their own immigration story – is sure to strike a chord.