Anders Behring Breivik’s terrorist attack in Norway in July 2011 shocked the world, the brutality of dual attacks, especially the horror of his mass shootings of teenagers at a summer camp on the island of Utøya, outside Oslo, shattered the world’s view of Norway as the epitome of the Scandinavia idyll.
Breivik may not be mentioned in this English premiere of Edoardo Erba’s Utoya, but the repercussions of his actions sit heavy on the piece. The terror attacks themselves also don’t feature; instead, we witness the events third-hand as Erba frames the piece through the eyes of three pairs of characters impacted by that day’s events. Fragments of information gathered from TV news, mobile phones or most chillingly, the sound of gunshot in the distance, become the basis for initial speculation and later repercussion and recrimination.
Gunnar and Malin, a couple from Bergen have sent their teenage daughter to the camp while they battle their own demons. Brother and sister Petter and Inga are struggling to run a farm as they discover their neighbour may have more to do with the attack than they first suspect, and police officers Alf and Unni find themselves the nearest officers to the attack but stymied by process and procedure.
The six characters may initially seem unlinked but, as events unfold, it becomes clear that the terror attack not only forces them to confront their own worldview but also exposes inner conflicts previously repressed in traditional Norwegian conformity. What has previously been left unsaid is now aired, causing new casualties alongside the terrorists.
Director Sarah Stacey draws out strong performances from Kate Reid and Marco Young who play all three couples. On stage throughout, the pair shift from character to character with ease and, as the enormity of the horror engulfing them begins to hit home, emotions become painfully real in the intimate Arcola Studio 2 space. These are powerful performances, at time uncomfortable to watch due to the raw emotion on stage but always compelling.
What those strong performances can’t hide, however, is a fundamental weakness in Erba’s script.
While the concept of using the Utoya attacks as a catalyst to delve into the fractures that lay just beneath the surface of the three couples is fascinating, the delivery never quite delivers on the promise. Telling a narrative through the voices of six characters is challenging but here the six characters are thinly drawn and we’re left with more questions than answers.
Gunnar and Malin are the most rounded of the characters but even here are only partly formed. Elsewhere it’s even more sketchy. What is the backstory of the farming siblings, a history clearly filled with issues, hints are provided about failed marriages and drink and a hastily thrown-in illness but there’s no context to enable us to engage with them. The same goes with the two police officers. There’s huge potential to explore the pressures of being the closest to the scene yet unable to act but instead, we’re dangled a mere hint and then an unresolved hint of sexual tension and conflict that seems unsure of what direction to take.
There are also issues with Marco Young’s translation which often resorts to cliché-laden and clumsy dialogue that detracts from the emotional heart of the piece.
Perhaps it’s the strength of the performances or the central construct of looking at relationships through the lens of intense horror that the weaknesses in the script don’t fully derail the evening. Those stresses, forcing out unspoken truths, and the shattering of what has previously been seen as a safe haven, send a powerful message. With recent events in the UK, this also proves to be a timely production with much to say about the dangers of jumping to false conclusions.
Running at 65 minutes without an interval it’s an intense, challenging and often moving production but ultimately the promise is only partly fulfilled and we’re left with the feeling that this is a story that has been more strongly told in other projects.
Utoya runs at the Arcola Theatre London until 31August.
