If, like me, the title of this show and the presence of its star Will Young lulled you into expecting that Song from Far Away would be a musical, think again. It’s more melancholy and unsettling than that – a revival of a 2015 Simon Stephens monologue about a lost thirty-something man whose stifled grief eventually breaks out into scarce snatches of music, their sound as haunting as a lone bird singing just before day breaks.
The first time round, Song from Far Away was staged at Young Vic by Ivo van Hove, in an edgy, moody production that cemented the hyper-prolific, acclaimed playwright Stephens as man of the hour. By comparison, Kirk Jamieson’s revival has an appealing brightness. Young sparks with wit and iced-over pain in his role as Willem, a nihilistic Dutch banker living an atomised existence as a gay man in New York.
The death of his younger, wiser brother Pauli calls him back to his native Amsterdam, where he barely attempts to connect with his family: he only feels at home in a premium airport lounge, drinking in its blandishments of whiskey and free massages like mother’s milk. He chases after an old flame and lingers in Amsterdam’s bars, desperate to avoid his parents’ messy agony. In desolate moments, Young’s ethereal voice spills into a delicate recurring melody by Mark Eitzel.
Perhaps Young’s formidable vocal talents are a little underused here. But after he was consigned to a flimsy, singing-only role in 2018’s Strictly Ballroom (his last London theatre outing), this solo show is a welcome chance for him to prove that he’s an acting talent to be reckoned with.
Designer Ingrid Hu creates a liminal setting of beige curtains and chrome furniture that gradually breaks apart as Willem does. In one haunting scene, he talks about the futility of striving, about the uncompromising carbon we’re all made from and will return to – and then ashy white flakes start to fall from the ceiling, heedlessly shed like dandruff from the scalp of an indifferent higher being.
At just 70 minutes long, this is very much an atmospheric meditation on grief rather than a full gruelling trek through its five stages, but that doesn’t make this dimly-lit, moody piece any less satisfying. Its most painful moments are less about the pain of losing someone and more about the pain of losing yourself, somewhere in an airport lounge, on a never-ending search for something worth caring about.
At Hampstead Theatre to 22 July, hampsteadtheatre.com
