EM Forster wrote his chilling short story about future human dependence on technology in 1909, with scarily prophetic accuracy. In a world underground, we see how The Machine serves the human population, caring for their every whim with just the push of a button; want to make your tiny cell of a room emulate the night by going dark? Push a button. Want to attend a lecture to learn about “Music from the Australian Period”? Push a button. Drop something by your feet and don’t feel like picking it up? Simply push a button. All without leaving the comfort of the chair you spend your life in.
In this world afraid of human contact, where infants who are deemed wastefully strong are destroyed at birth, only one man seems to have the desire to escape; Kuno. Managing to build up his strength by walking round his room and lifting his copy of the only remaining item from the “Paper Era”; The Machine Handbook, much to the horror of his mother Vashti, with his arms outstretched, Kuno finds a way to the surface, falling in love with the beauty he sees in the hills of Wessex. His trip, however, is terrifyingly brought to an end when part of The Machine drags him back underground.
Entering the space where this production is put on, immediately you see The Machine. Intimidatingly large it swallowed up the already small performance space giving the feeling that you can’t get away from it. Along with the cold, blue lighting and the creepy breathing that accompanies the electronic music, you know instantly that this will be a chilling experience.
The Machine is brought to life by Maria Gray and Gareth Aled who, dressed in completely in grey, represent The Machine, caring, in a cold and clinical way, for devoted follower Vashti, played by Caroline Gruber, when she needs, or wants, anything. Their constant, acrobatic movement, be it in the background or foreground makes sure that you are aware the machine is always working. The use of their bodies and their voices to show The Machine running smoothly and then, later on, starting to break down is inspired, with the fluidity at the start and the broken, jaggedness at the end making it clear that The Machine is dying.
Karl Queensborough, who plays the rebellious Kuno, is incredible as he relives going to the surface through the ventilation shaft he finds. Although in almost complete darkness, each feeling from excitement through to fear is clear simply through his voice, with no help from subtle facial expressions.
When he reaches the top again you can feel his joy and love for the world he finds, with help from the warm lighting and almost choral music. This is beautifully contrasted when his mother cuts his story short and he is taken back to the present, in the underground world, where the music goes back to harsh electronic and the lighting to cold blue.
The most creepy, and honestly quite terrifying, scene in this performance is when The Machine fixes the shaft where Kuno escaped from and comes towards him, wanting to drag him back underground. As he struggles to get away, again, Philippa Vafadari’s (Movement Director) choreography makes what is happening all the more real, as Gray and Aled trap Kuno in their bodies and fling him down to the ground below.
Everything about this performance was incredible. With the use of voice-overs, physical movement, the original score written by John Foxx and Benge, lighting and of course stellar acting coming together to create a piece of theatre that anyone and everyone would enjoy and one which I am sure I will never forget.
The Machine Stops is on stage at York Theatre Royal until the 4th June, from where it will go on tour to The Point, Eastleigh, New Theatre Royal, Portsmouth and Platform Shift + festival, Budapest. I truly recommend you going to see it.