Instead of a slow fade, Machinal begins with house lights snapping to darkness, thrusting the audience immediately and callously into the unforgiving, insensitive world wherein this play is set.
There is absolutely no way to conceal how splendid this theatre piece is. Inspired by true events, the script, written in 1928 by Sophie Treadwell, possesses a strong contemporary voice that transcends eras.
Even with costume designer Nicky Gillibrand’s trench coats, chemises, cloches and bowler hats, clearly situating this piece in the 1920s, the portrayal of women and industry remains chillingly current.
Rosie Sheehy as the protagonist of Young Woman is simply outstanding. Under the direction of Richard Jones, Sheehy delivers a stunning portrayal of a woman pushed to the brink of madness by an uncompromising society.
It is terrifying how the narrative continues to resonate with current affairs a century after its original premiere. Sheehy’s movements come in quick bursts like lightning strikes, the impact of society sending shockwaves throughout her body. One can almost feel the flinches and shudders when the Husband (Tim Frances) touches her.
The anxiety is immense. Early on in the play, the audience already sees Young Woman lose her composure. Trapped in a dilemma, she unleashes her anger onto her Mother (Buffy Davis). Sudden as it is, this turn of emotion is completely justified. Sheehy expertly anchors every moment in the play.
This is a woman on the verge of numerous nervous breakdowns, who, try as she might to submit to the demands of the patriarchy and the working world, never manages to please anyone—least of all herself. Even as a mother, Young Woman is never seen with her child and no sense of maternal instinct ever emerges.
The ensemble’s physical vocabulary, choreographed by movement director Sarah Fahie, illuminates the stark contrast between Young Woman’s frenzy and the zombified, mechanical actions of everyone else.
This is underscored by Benjamin Grant’s incessant soundscape of typewriter chimes, phone rings and office hubbub. The unrelenting buzz is interspersed with superficial workplace chat, empty phrases and hollow laughter on endless repeat.
Hyemi Shin’s set design offers a series of claustrophobic spaces, demarcated by two bright yellow walls converging into a corner in the middle of the stage. It is vibrant and oppressive at the same time, as if enforcing a sense of cheeriness and positivity within a stifling environment.
Adam Silverman’s lighting ties in wonderfully with the space, comprising stark quadrangles and right angles. In an outlier scene when Young Woman begins a passionate romance with Young Man (Pierro Niel-Mee), Silverman casts the stage in a sustained blackout, highlighting the sense of peace and calm in Sheehy’s voice for the first time.
A tiny yet cautionary red light from a bedside lamp (rather reminiscent of the symbolic green light in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby) grows slowly over the course of their conversation, casting dim shadows on the walls and shrouding the characters in secrecy, setting up for a disappointing betrayal later on.
Jones’ vision of Machinal offers an uncompromising portrait of an individual’s powerlessness in a detached world. One either succumbs to it, as seen from the office workers, or revolts with horrible consequences, like Young Woman.
With terrific direction and strong performances all around, Machinal hooks audiences from its first moment to the fateful, bitter end.
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