Written by Madeleine Farnhill

Directed by Natalie Simone

Review by Laurie Kimmett

Lower Theatre at theSpace @ Niddry St

A Yorkshire farm, a mother and daughter, self-sustaining living. It sounds idyllic, right? Well, not in this production. In The Hunger, Megan and Deborah live on their pig farm and try to survive – day in, day out. In the outside world, an apocalypse is raging, and Deborah will do anything to keep her daughter safe. The problem is that Megan is hungry – not for her food, which is an issue in itself – but for other people, to see her friends, and to solve the mystery of the child who keeps appearing outside their window. 

If there’s one thing Black Bright Theatre does well, it’s horror, and The Hunger is certainly horrifying. The script is tight and well structured, unspooling the terrifying outside world bit by bit without ever explicitly telling the audience what to be afraid of exactly. Writer Madeleine Farnhill blends apocalyptic themes with the altogether more terrifying mother-daughter relationship with skill and passion. Farnhill’s script is brought to life by two incredibly skilled performers. Susan Jayne Robinson is the tough-love, non-nonsense mother Deborah, who slaughters pigs and people alike without much fuss. Hollie Burgess is her foil as Megan, her endearing and curious daughter who craves nothing more than connection. The two actors bounce off each other wonderfully, twisting the neck of their relationship tighter and tighter to the last wheezing breath. 

Visceral physical design plays a huge part in setting the atmosphere for the play. Nondescript ‘meat’ is spooned greedily into mouths, blood smears the fronts of overalls, and in a truly stomach-turning moment, vomit splatters across the stage. It does make you wonder how long the clean up must take each day. 

The set is also fabulous, with corrugated plastic making up the walls of their farmhouse-cum-prison. The walls distort shadows and bounce blood-red lighting off the set, making the already strange dynamics morph into twisted figures. Sparsely made up with just a simple table and chairs, it is nonetheless effective, and even better highlights the more important props: a first aid kit and a menacing shotgun that takes on a life of its own.

The minimalistic set and condensed story mean that every moment needs to be used to its fullest potential. This means that we don’t need to see a character crying alone onstage after every fight between mother and daughter before transitioning into the next scene. This happens at least four times during the show, and means that the impact of the performances ceases to land after a while.

Having said that, The Hunger is a masterclass in unseen tension. A sound effect of tin cans rattling makes heart rates spike, and an unseen silent child is both sinister and pathetic. This is a show that will keep you guessing and gasping until the last sucker-punch of an image.

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