Written by David Ireland
Directed by Finn den Hertog
Review by Dominic Corr
A fierce electricity charges through the National Theatre Live recording of The Fifth Step, a production that arrives at the Filmhouse in Edinburgh with the confidence of a work that knows precisely what it is and what it wants to say. It’s a stark reinvention of the original piece; a superb turn-around for a show which recognised it’s shortcoming and adapted.
The premiere screening feels like a homecoming of sorts, returning to a city that witnessed the earlier incarnation of this piece during the International Festival, yet what unfolds on screen is sharper, leaner, and more emotionally volatile. The first (and long overdue) production to be recorded by the National Theatre for Scotland, the shift from stage to screen does not dilute the tension; it heightens every tremor of vulnerability and every flicker of danger that pulses between Jack Lowden and Martin Freeman, whose performances anchor this gripping two-hander with astonishing clarity.
The most striking evolution from the festival staging lies in the intimacy of Finn den Hertog’s direction for the National Theatre Live capture. Performed in the round, this configuration at @sohoplace already demanded a level of exposure from the actors, but the camera intensifies this further, closing the distance between audience and performer until every breath feels shared. The lens becomes a confessional booth, a witness to the fragile trust forming between James and Luka as they navigate the treacherous terrain of step five. Where the earlier production thrived on the energy of the room, this version thrives on the precision of the gaze, allowing the emotional architecture of David Ireland’s writing to unfold with forensic detail.
Jack Lowden, reprising his role as Luka, delivers a performance that feels even more combustible on screen. His physical stillness carries a coiled volatility, a sense that the truth he is withholding might rupture the space at any moment. Lowden’s command of silence is extraordinary, each pause weighted with the possibility of confession or collapse. The camera captures the micro shifts in his expression, revealing layers of fear, humour, and defiance that ripple beneath the surface. His presence is magnetic, drawing the audience into Luka’s internal battle with a force that feels both dangerous and deeply human.
Opposite him, Martin Freeman brings a raw and compelling intensity to James, a man whose own recovery is built on foundations far less stable than he would like to admit. Freeman’s performance is a masterclass in emotional contradiction, balancing warmth with unease, empathy with something far more unsettling. The screen magnifies the flickers of doubt in his eyes, the strain in his jaw, the moments where his carefully maintained composure threatens to fracture. His chemistry with Lowden is electric, their exchanges crackling with a tension that feels utterly lived in. Together they create a dynamic that is both intimate and unpredictable, a relationship built on shared pain and mutual suspicion.
The staging, designed by Milla Clarke, translates beautifully to film. The sparse environment becomes a crucible, its simplicity allowing the performances to dominate while Lizzie Powell’s lighting sculpts the space with a quiet, atmospheric precision. Mark Melville’s sound design underscores the emotional beats without intruding, creating a sonic landscape that supports the escalating stakes of the narrative. The filming captures all of this with remarkable sensitivity, shifting between wide shots that emphasise the isolation of the characters and close-ups that expose their emotional rawness.
The premiere at the Filmhouse carries an added resonance, the audience palpably aware of witnessing a work that has evolved significantly since its Edinburgh origins. The screening format allows for a new kind of communal experience, one where the intensity of the performances is shared collectively yet felt individually. The atmosphere in the room is charged, the silence between scenes thick with anticipation, the final moments landing with a weight that lingers long after the credits roll.
This National Theatre Live recording of The Fifth Step is a triumph, a meticulous and emotionally devastating exploration of confession, recovery, and the fragile bonds that hold people together, and a much-needed, and overdue showcase of the National Theatre of Scotland. It honours the power of the original Festival production while carving out its own identity, one shaped by the intimacy of the camera and the extraordinary performances at its core. Lowden and Freeman deliver work of rare depth and precision, and the result is a piece of theatre on screen that feels immediate, urgent, and unforgettable. In a world of incels, podcasts, and the kickback of toxic masculinities death-rattles, theatre once more holds out a welcoming hand and a cup of coffee.
Fiercly Electric
The Fifth Step will screen across the UK
Running time – Two hours without interval
Review by Dominic Corr (contact@corrblimey.uk)
Editor for Corr Blimey, and a freelance critic for Scottish publications, Dominic has been writing freelance for several established and respected publications such as BBC Radio Scotland, The List, The Scotsman, Edinburgh Festival Magazine, The Reviews Hub, In Their Own League, The Wee Review and Edinburgh Guide. As of 2023, he is a member of the Critic’s Award for Theatre Scotland (CATS) and a member of the UK Film Critics.
