Image credit: Mihaela Bodlovic

Theatre review: Solaris

Adapted by David Greig from the book by Stanislaw Lem, directed by Matthew Lutton, produced by the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre, with Malthouse Theatre Melbourne and the Royal Lyceum Theatre Edinburgh

Barbara Kolaric
Nov 1 · 6 min read

If there is a word that summarises the essence of what director Mathew Lutton’s Solaris, currently playing at the Lyric Hammersmith theatre is about, it would be loneliness. The kind of loneliness that is sticky and impossible to get rid of, filling the space until there is hardly room for anything else left. The kind of heavy, devastating loneliness that would not leave you alone, even in you travelled for miles and miles, days and days, to get away from it. So perhaps it is then apt that David Greig’s adaptation of Stanislaw Lem’s brilliant novel puts it at the centre of a story that happens as far away from the Earth as imaginable.

The story is hardly new after a book and two well renowned films: the plot revolves around a group of researchers on a space station, there to study an unusual planet — the titular Solaris — which turns out to be a reactive presence rather than simply an object to be observed. Solaris seemingly tries to communicate with its visitors, by sending them their own visitors in return, people from their past for whom death (and, it turns out, a fondness for water, but we are left to figure out for ourselves which of these is more important) is a common denominator. The question of who is really observing and studying whom in this situation remains at the core in this new version, although some elements have been slightly altered — most prominently there are (trendy, although admittedly in this case interesting) gender role swaps, which work surprisingly well, turning Kris Kelvin and his former wife into a female psychologist and her young lover, Ray — and other elements have been tweaked to give the story a more modern feel. But it is the accentuation on and exploration of the one out of many topics that Lem’s novel touches upon — consciousness, ecology, right of possession… — that makes this version interesting, even if its sci-fi context doesn’t immediately appeal to you.

Image credit: Mihaela Bodlovic

In fact, Greig’s script feels more like a study of loneliness and human nature, than it does like science fiction. For in Solaris, loneliness as a theme comes in different shapes and sizes. It is most prominent as the absence of another person, another human being to hold on to. When Kelvin’s lover comes back from her past — although she is aware he is initially just an empty shell filled with her memories of him and the two of them together — she cannot let go of him. For there is a vast void in her that needs something to be filled with; an emotional emptiness that defies reason. And this is only made bigger by the disenchantment deriving from the discovery that even that what we think we want, and are given, sometimes isn’t enough. There is also (embodied and embedded in Dr. Sartorius) the loneliness caused by the absence of a shared understanding of a situation one finds themselves in; the loneliness manifested as lack of a connection, of being the sole bearer of an experience, or feeling like one — without it being relevant which version is factually true. And then there is the kind of loneliness — in Ray — which manifests itself as a lack of connection to something in oneself, something inexplicable. As he starts out as a projection created from Kelvin’s memories, and evolves into a conscious being with little knowledge of his purpose, his loneliness — the distance between the safety of collectiveness, of being part of the Solaris, in contrast to the solitude of individual existence in a reality in which he is somewhere between being and simply existing — grows, threatening to destroy him in the process. All of the characters experience and handle their loneliness differently, but it seems to be lurking behind every corner of the remote station, allowing everyone in the audience to find a connection. Because who hasn’t experienced loneliness before? Greig’s isn’t a perfect script — some sentences and dialogues feel almost overly blunt, direct and revealing — but it feels almost brave in its author’s decision to explore and put such an everyday issue to the forefront in a sci-fi setting.

Image credit: Mihaela Bodlovic

Feelings of loneliness, solitude, remoteness and distance are further accentuated by the brilliant stage design, which is the absolute star of the production: designer Hyemi Shin shines in her execution of a minimalist, all-white space station, with a Stanley Kubrick film feel to it and the hint of something chilling in the air. The modular stage, with walls that transform within seconds to reveal pieces of furniture and create various settings, has a strong touch of retrofuturism in its aesthetic, further exacerbated by the decision to use technologies we today perceive as (rather) dated. (When Kelvin watches recordings left for her by her colleague, Gibarian, they are stored on video cassettes.) The lighting is also used to a clever effect, to create the impression of the passing of time, changes of night and day, Solaris orbiting around its two suns, with the whole stage consumed, rather than simply lit, by shades of red and blue. And as the intense light spills over the stage there is a strong feeling of immersiveness, almost as if the audience has been transported to the surface of the Solaris, participating in the experience of the characters. Largely due to the clever design, as far as theatre productions go, this is the most cinematic one I have seen, coming (dangerously) close to blurring the lines between film and theatre, to a greatly visually appealing effect.

Image credit: Mihaela Bodlovic

The same cinematic approach is, however, somewhat less effective in terms of telling the story. Projection of a large grey ocean surface appears on a screen that comes down to fully cover the view of the stage — with waves crashing and humming repetitively, a representation of the surface of Solaris — as a way to switch between scenes, like a recurring, diverting shot between scenes in a film. But while this is interesting as a way to connect with the cinematic legacy of the story, at times it feels disruptive to the production’s rhythm. In order to retain the dynamic, scenes are also short, cut quickly, and stories feel only partially told, the feeling of something unfinished left lingering in the air, leaving the viewer’s mind to connect a number of dots and fill in the gaps between them. The slightly weaker part of the production are also the performances: Keegan Joyce is endearing as Ray in the scenes that require him to portray naivety and confusion, but is significantly less convincing in conveying serious emotion. Polly Frame’s performance suffers from being somehow hectic, her reactions at times appearing overly dramatic and not entirely sincere. The rest of the cast aren’t present on stage for long enough to leave a stronger mark.

But these flaws are largely redeemed by the inherent gentleness and curiosity with which Greig approaches his characters, and by the impressive stage design. Solaris is worth a trip to Hammersmith for these two elements alone.


Seen at the Lyric Hammersmith on 22 October, 2019

Barbara Kolaric

Written by

Dreamer. Cat person. Londoner. Figuring out how to write about art that challenges me.

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