Faith, Hope and Charity: a brilliant, candid performance
Set in a ramshackle community centre, the theatre performance of Faith, Hope and Charity is a candid play about life on the margins of society.
The acting is so unaffected that it will be hard to watch another play without viewing it as contrived.
The performance centres around Hazel who has been cooking hot meals at the rundown community centre on the edge of town for more than 20 years. She is softly spoken, brilliant at consoling, advising and cheering up the people around her, but closed about her own life.
Mason, who is damaged from a childhood spent in and out of foster homes and time in prison, tries to help others, including Hazel. Anthony, is a young man living in a hostel, mourning the death of his friend Charity, while Bernard, possibly schizophrenic, is lonely, socially inept, and talks to himself.
There is a Sudanese mother and daughter, reserved at first, but gradually friendlier. And Carl, who comes to the centre with his carer. He sits so unobtrusively amongst the audience, that the characters on stage forget he’s there – perhaps a reflection of how society treats those with disabilities.
Central to the story are Beth and her anxious son Marc, as we follow their attempts to regain custody of Beth’s younger daughter, Faith. Somehow we know they will fail.
Orchestrated yet natural
These characters are very real in every detail, from their dialogue to their mannerisms. Director Alexander Zeldin says he conducts an “orchestra with bodies” and it is true that every word and every silence makes the audience feel they are sitting inside the community centre with the characters.
The centre is grubby, it’s shabby, and there is water constantly leaking from a hole in the roof. The characters live on the margins of society, but never seem to get real support to improve their situation. The community centre is a lifeboat in a storm – or the torrential rain that is a backdrop to much of the play.
Zeldin highlights how social welfare systems are broken when the community centre – the one place where the characters find comfort – shuts down. Beth comments that “they wouldn’t do this if we had money”.
The characters come together to eat tinned food, and the cheapest brand of bread, biscuits and fake butter. They don’t necessarily have things in common and they often irritate each other. They have their favourite seat and they have their way of talking. They share ideas, thoughts and meals, and apologise continuously - as though they wish to be pardoned from their very own existence.
Joyful, sad but not contrived
At times the actors sit in the front row of the theatre, making the audience feel involved.
The play is incredibly moving – both joyful and sad. The audience laughs out loud and then feel immense sadness. Intermittently there is a blackout and loud noise, keeping viewers on their toes and is disorientating – a reminder of how the characters may feel when they leave the centre.
Zeldin shows us that community can mean everything when you have nothing else. That it can bring joy, solace, and a sense of belonging and family. That it can accommodate everyone, just as Mason’s choir unites the group and gives them a reason to be together that goes beyond a hot meal.
I didn’t leave the theatre feeling sad, but quite amazed at the resilience of humans. My only sadness was that this brilliant play and performance was given to a half-full theatre.
You can watch performances of Faith, Hope and Charity on Friday and Saturday at the Grand Théâtre.
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