Be Prepared to Be Seduced by Solaris

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Liz Vercoe loves the Lyric's new play and its mind-bending planet

 

Shifting grey waves, a child. Blink. A clinical white room occupied by one startled scientist and a space-suited astronaut... So opens Solaris one of the most heavily discussed science-fiction stories, books, TV series, films and, now, play, for the past 50 years. Perpetually not answering the question: "What's it telling us?"

Adding to the confusion, Polish science-fiction writer Stanislaw Lem seems not to have much liked any of the interpretations of his original 1961 novel. It's not possible to know if this new play by writer David Greig (and only seen so far in Melbourne, Australia, and Edinburgh) would fare any better, as Lem died in 2006, but it certainly offers audiences a gripping two hours of entertainment along the lines: "What if we are not alone...even with our thoughts."

The play's opening is certainly pretty faithful to the original book. Here we are on a space station hovering above the mysterious, ocean-covered planet Solaris, effectively represented by film of sweeping troughs of water, when the two remaining and very jittery scientists on board, Dr Snow (Fode Simbo) and Dr Sartorious (Jade Ogugua) are joined by the rocketed-from-home astro-psychiatrist Kris Kelvin, played by Polly Frame.

She's been sent to find out what on not-Earth has been going on up there. A clue may be in the videotapes (yes, it's still the 20th century) left for her and talking to her, by former tutor Dr Gilbarian (Hugo Weaving recorded).

It seems to be that Solaris's ocean may have a mind of its own and that mind appears (to humans, anyway) to want to understand what it means to be human. And it's been testing out its theories by sending "visitors" to the space station, including the six-year-old mute child. But with limited success. In Dr Snow it has learned to be analytical, in Dr Sartorious it has learned to be rational, in Dr Gilbarian it learned to fear death; but only in the truly emotional can it be given a voice.

Enter Kris and, conveniently, her barely repressed memories of the lost love of her life, Ray (Keegan Joyce). He soon becomes her walking, talking, boozing, wave-loving Aussie beach boy visitor. And just as she'd fallen in love with him – however unsuitable he was – previously, inevitably she once again ignores all the clues screaming at her.

The first half of the play is beautifully convincing. Drs Snow and Sartorious are terrified of the inexplicable while sticking to science to help them survive and the chemistry between Kris and Ray (one 60 per cent water the other 100 per cent) is palpable. Even the scene changes punctuated by what feels like the dropping of a vast eyelid pull you into observing the unfolding story. Unfortunately, Director Matthew Lutton lets the second half lose its wave-like changes of pace.  Polly Frame's Kris becomes more robotic, particularly in a tediously long monologue explaining who Ray was, what he meant, what happened next, what the consequence was... Gone is the hormone-heightened woman who could fall for a confidently cheeky grin atop a firm body.

Similarly, the relationship between the three scientists becomes more irritating squabble than the peaks and troughs of outright war or soul-sucking depression.

It doesn't ruin the play thankfully: whenever Ray is in the mix there is a satisfying uncertainty, and you really do want to know the outcome – and when it comes it's sufficiently surprising. But you wish the deeper events this side of the interval could be given more time and intensity. We clatter through subjects such as Solaris being given the equivalent of electric shock treatment; a possible human desire to return to water; how to answer the question "Who am I?"; and what it means to be alone.

Even a practical matter such as the offloading of half the ship's rations from the escape shuttle takes about five seconds. But as with Lem's original Solaris and all those that followed, it will give you plenty to talk about on the way home from the Lyric.

Solaris, running two hours and fiveminutes, including 15-minute interval, runs until 2 November. Call the Box Office 020 8741 6850 or find out more and book online.

October 17, 2019