By: Skye Slatcher
Bess Wohl’s gripping two-hander, set in 2009 Barcelona, was a triumph.
I have no doubt Lily Collins felt quite comfortable in this character. She continues in her expert acting as a shrill, culturally unaware American abroad. Much like Emily in Paris, Irene was another playful, annoying character, stumbling her way through a European city. Remarkably, this was Collins’ stage debut and it truly left me wondering why she hadn’t done it sooner.
Álvaro Morte, a tall, dark, handsome, kind of mysterious Spanish man, plays a tall, dark, handsome, kind of mysterious Spanish man. And he does it well. He is no stranger to the stage, but this does mark his West End debut. I hope it is not his last. His performance as Manuel – or Manolo as drunken Irene calls him – was brilliant. His reserved qualities perfectly contrasted Irene’s all-over-the-place-ness.
We begin as they slam open the door to Manuel’s ‘muy lindo’ apartment, having met in a bar during a bachelorette weekend. They are all over each other, and he is keen to keep things moving, but Irene descends into a bumbling stream of thoughts and questions. As the alcohol hits her, she goes to his bathroom to throw up. He is undeterred when she returns, taking off her shoe and sucking her toes.
It is at this point that questions begin to arise: why does none of the plumbing work? Why does Manuel keep glancing out the window? Why is everything in boxes?
The pair soon get onto the topic of politics, the foundation of which is Irene’s American exceptionalism and complete ignorance of Spanish culture. He rages about ‘putos americanos’ and the US-led invasion of Iraq and is haunted by the casualties of the Madrid train bombings of 2004. I think some of the American-centric details might have landed better in front of an American audience, but her later revelation that she ‘[doesn’t] know America’ felt a more universal sentiment. Throughout the play, right from the moment Collins’ Irene asks them to pretend it’s their last night on Earth, Wohl emphasises unfinished endings. From Manuel playing ‘O Mio Babbino Caro’, to the ongoing construction of Gaudi’s La Sagrada Familia, these details only really fall into place at the very end, the audience hanging off every line.
When I sat before the play began, there were shadows of a woman on the wall of the apartment. I didn’t think too much of it – someone fiddling with the lights maybe? Little did I know it would become so significant later on. I think it is these small details that make this show really shine.
When Manuel’s tragic secret is revealed, what came before is rendered quite creepy and yet Morte, Collins, and Wohl’s writing left me feeling for them both. The pair have such clear chemistry that swings between romance and loathing, drunken chaos and sobering emotion. I can’t think of two actors that would have worked better.
Beyond the performances and the plot, the staging crafted by designer Frankie Bradshaw and director Lynette Linton shape the mood and deliver clues. The longer the play went on, the more unsettling the set felt. The art of the lighting should also not be understated, as the early morning light crept in underscoring the deadlines on our characters’ decisions.
A full house standing ovation was the right ending to the show. Barcelona deserves all the praise for the rare achievement of making a theatre of 640 people sit still, almost breathless, for 90 minutes. It felt longer. I wanted it to be longer. A 21st century theatre triumph in my books.
