THREE years ago, Torben Betts moved from London to a house by the sea near the Scottish border. His new play draws on some of his experiences, though, not surprisingly, he takes the story in a dark new direction, steeping it in the rich, poetic visio
n characteristic of many of his earlier works.
A couple inherit "a house in the country, a house by the sea" and move out of the city "to escape the bruising banalities of the modern world". It's the archetypal rural idyll: rejecting the city for what they perceive is a better quality of life.
Predictably, they find living the dream is not quite what they expected: they're more isolated, lonelier, poorer. The husband (Neal Barry) wonders how to define himself now he has left his career behind. The wife (Nia Gwynne) collects shells and starts hearing the voice of God. They operate in separate worlds, fiercely articulating their intentions in an attempt to drown out their fears.
The couple cast themselves as a latter-day Adam and Eve who will preside over "the rebirth of mankind". But stormclouds are gathering in paradise and the TV news is bringing reports of flooding and gang warfare. Meanwhile, a mysterious stranger is abroad on the country lanes, playing a violin.
Lie of the Land is a complex, pared-down piece of writing which unfolds its story in episodes divided by subtitles, as on a silent film. It operates on many levels, asking a variety of questions about what fulfills us. Our human attempts to regain paradise are usually flawed – if only because we are in them – and Betts is adept at probing the difference between what we think will make us happy, and what actually might.
Until 25 August. Today 12:30pm
The full article contains 307 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
