"Things I Know To Be True" review by Flora Molnar

 The thing I know to be true is I cried: ‘Things I Know To Be True’ at Grove Theatre review

I confess I was having one of the busiest weekends of term when I ran to catch closing night of Lighthouse Productions’ ‘Things I Know To Be True’; as a result, I had barely looked into the play, direction or cast as I normally like to do before a production I’m reviewing. But as I reflect now, I can’t help but think maybe this was the perfect state of innocence to watch it in: as the pieces gradually clicked into place, the ending hit like a train (car?) wreck – I felt just as much shock and emotion as the characters. Conclusion-wise, it’s a textbook tragedy, yet nothing about this production felt formulaic. On the contrary, I would call it a masterclass in both theatrical originality and human connection.

A huge part of this uniqueness has to be attributed to the set design, which is visually stunning and atmospheric throughout. But, more importantly, these aesthetics are loaded with symbolic significance which makes them truly meaningful for the performance (more than can be said of the latest “Wuthering Heights” movie, for example!). It is actually in the greeting instance of playing cards hanging from the foyer ceiling where it most lacks this (no cards feature in the production, which is a shame as the family could have been playing at the table), but even this at least creates a down-the-rabbit-hole feeling upon entering, like the Alice in Wonderland scenes painted on. And from here on, every aspect feels perfectly relevant and intentional, not least with designer Erin Cook’s framing centrepiece, which, as a wooden, two-dimensional house with an asymmetric roof, already captures the fragile, off-balance family dynamic we come to experience. The same can be said of the furniture within: at one point, I notice that no two chairs around the table are the same, just how no two siblings are. But the most genius innovation is the use of mesh for the walls: it acts as both a screen to project onto, as well as a veil to see through, capitalising on both sides of what translucency offers. So in the scene changes, a projection of a hand-drawn tree moving from season to season prompts us to reflect on inevitable change, while in the characters’ monologues, other characters referenced in speech step onto stage for a couple seconds, but only to remain behind the mesh, as if trapped in memory. Such instances of being restricted to a space stand out all the more as most of the time, the show conversely challenges boundaries, the abstract rose bushes along the front overturning the separation between the on and off-stage, the indoor and outdoor. 

Again, this only works so well because it is a direct manifestation of what is at the heart of the play’s plot, characters and dynamics – I think back to lines like ‘this garden is the world’. The scene in which this comes from was one of my personal favourites, with a standout performance from Gabriella Ofo as Pip, the eldest daughter, who wants to leave her husband and children and has to break this to the family. The sincerity with which she captures the contradictory experience of needing to stand up for herself while reconciling her mother’s own pain and reaction is admirable – and heartbreaking. The monologue-heaviness of this script is a big weight to carry, but each actor rises to the challenge and has their moment to shine, right from the start with Hope Healy as youngest sibling Rosie, who pours her heart out to the audience, as her character did on her gap year. Her consequent hovering on stage in other siblings’ disputes is also memorable, as if she were a fellow audience member in the drama of her own family, to the point where I find myself as viewer most affiliated with her perspective (to which the fact that I am also a nineteen-year-old who ‘doesn’t know who she is or what she wants to be yet’ may or may not contribute). The first act ends with the climax of middle sibling Mark coming out as transgender, from here on appearing as Mia, to her non-understanding parents, the frustration of which Alexis Wood conveys with maturity and authenticity. 

In the second act, it is the rest of the cast that flourish, with Ediz Ozer as last sibling Ben, previously a character of comic relief, now coming into his own when his problem of stealing $250,000 is revealed. A similar evolution occurs with Sam Gosmore as father Bob, who up until this point had been the softer, more comedic parent; now the two rub together and tensions quite literally explode, creating the other most captivating scene for me. The anger in Gosmore’s shouts that boom out into the silent theatre means that I can only echo Ben’s broken lines after, ‘Dad, I’m scared’. And the most complicated character is undoubtedly the mother Fran, where Lucía Mayorga’s portrayal manages to find the balance between all her traits – at first rather unsympathetic, we slowly grow more and more to see her strength, sacrifice and humanity. Just in time for the ending, where we, like the characters, are forced to lose her. It is nothing short of devastating. 

So really, I could have summed up the show with my own short, Rosie-esque list of things I know to be true: I cried. I let the tears that had been brimming the entire production fall down my face, and in hearing much of the room do the same, I felt more certain of human connection in both art and life than ever before. For a student production to have achieved such a feat, I can only praise directors Alys Young and Ivana Clapperton, and eagerly await to see where Lighthouse Productions will transport us next.