Theatre review: Octopolis

Seafood enthusiast Marek Horn follows up a play about tuna with a play about an octopus, and the people whose fascination with the molluscs becomes indistinguishable from love. In Octopolis George (Jemma Redgrave) is a scientist grieving her husband and research partner, with whom she developed theories about whether the notoriously solitary cephalopods might have a previously unknown social side. Since her husband's death, she's retreated into her living room with Frances, the octopus in a tank they were studying, and had made some potentially extraordinary discoveries on; she's not entirely unaware that she treats Frances as a way of still feeling connected to him. The house George lives in belongs to a University, and she's been too preoccupied to wonder why they've let her stay there since she stopped her teaching and research.

The catch comes when she's sent an unexpected and unwanted lodger: Anthropologist Harry (Ewan Miller) has convinced the faculty to let her - and her octopus - stay, on condition that he can move in and study the unique social dynamic George and Frances have created.

The idea Harry thinks could make his career is to discover whether an octopus believes in god, an idea which... yes, still comes across as bonkers in the play itself, but Horn does do a good job of explaining the anthropological theories and processes that might inspire what seems such a wild leap of the imagination. He does this by having Harry give us a lot of background and research on the subject, and while I'd like to say this is seamlessly woven into the drama I can't.

The two-hander uses narration from both characters (and at one point it becomes apparent the actors are giving us the story from the octopus' point of view) as well as a lot of explanation of the kind of work both scientists do, and the theories they're trying to test. It's not that these aren't interesting, in the way that stumbling upon an article about a subject you wouldn't normally read about can be interesting, but Ed Madden’s production doesn’t convince that this is theatre – everything from the understated performances, to Anisha Fields’ design dominated by a tank full of swirling smoke, is so low-key as to make little impact.

And for all the science there’s little chemistry; I think the play would have been a hard sell at the best of times, but the right cast might have salvaged it. Unfortunately there’s no spark between Redgrave and Miller, meaning we never really care about George and Harry, and the romance element feels tacked on. So do the occasional flash-forward scenes to a possible future where the pair dance happily to Bowie songs (a reference to George’s theories on how the death of David Bowie tapped into an innate sense of religion even among atheists.) I couldn’t help feeling the creatives knew how static the play was, and wanted something to combat that, but it’s too little, and too abrupt. Octopolis ends up a strange little play that, unlike evolving octopuses, never comes out of its shell.

Octopolis by Marek Horn is booking until the 28th of October at Hampstead Theatre Downstairs.

Running time: 1 hour 45 minutes straight through.

Photo credit: The Other Richard.