Interview: Natalie Ekberg on HIM at Union Theatre

When Jane unexpectedly falls pregnant by her best friend Charlie, abortion seems like the best way forward. Charlie is gay (right?) and Jane is ambitious. Not the best combination for trouble-free parenthood.

Until… Charlie offers to raise the child with his new partner, Osmond, and with the help of his mother, Nana. Conditions are stated, contracts are drawn up and everybody settles into their new reality. Charlie, Osmond, Nana and baby Kit move out of London to the countryside, while Jane moves to New York to pursue her career in fashion.

You mightalso like

Interview: Connor Delves on CADEL: Lungs On Legs at Riverside Studios

West End star Niall Sheehy joins cast of HIM at the Union Theatre

But sixteen years later, with her fortieth birthday looming, the price Jane paid for that decision suddenly seems unacceptable, and she is back with a vengeance, forever disrupting the veneer of Charlie’s cosy domesticity.

I suppose HIM is about what happens when a decision made with love acquires consequences nobody anticipated.

HIM explores a contemporary LGBTQ+ family and some morally complex decisions. What first inspired you to tell this particular story?

I was initially commissioned to write the play by a gay couple, both theatre producers, who were interested in showing an ordinary gay relationship under extraordinary circumstances. When they left the project, I decided to introduce a female perspective on motherhood, career, love and loyalty.

I started thinking about a woman giving a child to two men to raise and immediately realised that I didn’t know whose side I was on. That was what interested me.

If Jane gives birth to the child, does that create a claim that can never completely disappear? If Charlie is biologically his father, does that matter more than Osmond being there every day of his life? And if you willingly surrender a parental role when a child is born, are you allowed to change your mind sixteen years later?

Every time I thought I knew the answer, another character made a perfectly reasonable argument against it. That’s usually when I know I have something worth writing.

The play is described as darkly funny, emotionally charged and painfully honest. How did you balance humour with some of the deeper emotional themes?

I think the emotional charge comes from the fact that nobody in HIM is entirely innocent and nobody is entirely wrong. These are people who love each other, but they have also hurt each other, sometimes profoundly, and sixteen years of resentment, guilt and things left unsaid eventually have to come out.

I wanted the characters to be brutally honest, particularly about feelings we don’t necessarily like admitting to: jealousy, regret, resentment, selfishness, and the fear that somebody else has lived the life you might have had.

Parenthood is surrounded by so much idealised language about unconditional love and sacrifice, but underneath that there can also be possession, competition and a very human need to be needed. I wanted the play to be honest about that.

The humour comes naturally from the same place. These people have known one another for years, so they know exactly where the weak spots are. Sometimes they use humour affectionately and sometimes they use it as a weapon. And sometimes people simply say something terribly funny in the middle of a terrible situation.

So I never really thought of it as balancing comedy against emotion. For me, the humour allows us to get closer to the painful things. You laugh, you relax, and then somebody says something that suddenly lands somewhere much deeper.

Family, responsibility and parenthood sit at the heart of HIM. What conversations do you hope audiences might continue after leaving the theatre?

The best possible outcome for me would be two people leaving the theatre arguing about who was right. I don’t want HIM to tell the audience what to think. In fact, I’d be slightly disappointed if everyone came away agreeing.

I’m fascinated by the difference between love and entitlement. Loving somebody deeply doesn’t necessarily give you a right to them. Being responsible for somebody doesn’t necessarily mean possessing them. And biology is enormously important to us until suddenly we decide that it isn’t.

There is also a question in the play about whether an agreement made sixteen years ago should bind the person you have become today. We talk a great deal about people’s right to change, but change becomes much more complicated when other people’s lives have been built around the person you used to be.

If people are still discussing that over a drink afterwards, I’ve done my job.

You work across film, television and theatre. What made HIM a story that you specifically wanted to tell on stage?

Because nobody can escape.

In film or television I could cut away. I could show you the past, move locations, give somebody a private moment. In HIM, these characters have to remain in a room together and deal with what has just been said. That pressure is essential to the play.

Theatre also allows the audience to become almost another member of the family. You’re close enough to notice a silence, a look, somebody choosing not to answer. And because there is no camera telling you where to look, you can watch the person who isn’t speaking. Sometimes that’s where the real scene is happening.

I love film and television, but theatre will always be my first love, and HIM, with all its challenging characters, was always meant for the stage. Once the evening starts, actors and audience have to go through it together. Nobody gets an edit.

What would you say to anyone thinking of booking to see HIM?

Come prepared to change your mind.

You may believe for a long time that one character is right and discover twenty minutes later that you’re defending somebody else. Then they will probably do something that annoys you and you’ll have to reconsider all over again.

And please don’t imagine you’re coming to ninety minutes of solemn debate about parenthood. HIM is a proper family drama: people drink, fight, flirt, lie, remember things differently, behave badly and make each other laugh.

Ultimately, I hope you’ll recognise something in these people even if your own family looks nothing like theirs. And if you come with somebody, I’d be very interested to know whether the two of you agree about the play afterwards. I suspect you might not.