While the spring of 2020 already feels like a distant past, its lingering effects are still very much present. People no longer need to squeeze themselves into trains like canned sardines just for home office commuting. The development of technology and the rise of working from home promise a more relaxed routine: you can now make yourself a cup of coffee before your Zoom meeting — wearing a suit and tie on top, and shorts underneath, of course.
But what about the darker side of such convenience? Written by Michael Wynne (The Priory) and directed by Lucy Bailey (Witness for the Prosecution), Clive wittily explores that darker underside through an equally bleak and toxic workplace, where the tyrannical boss Naomi devalues our protagonist Thomas’s work (Paul Keating). By turning white into black, Thomas’s kindness and caring nature are utterly exploited and distorted into a weapon against himself.
Of course, Thomas is no perfect victim. To some extent, the pandemic isolation, as well as his workplace culture, only amplify something deeply troubling and controversial within his personality: while he has this desperate, everlasting craving for real human connection — not via Zoom but in real life — he always fails to do so because of his own cowardice.
Busy answering Zoom calls, emails and messages, Thomas occasionally stands by the window, gazing across the canal at his neighbours going about their day. Other times, stuck in his apartment, he plays video games, does household cleaning and tends to his cactus friend Clive, an inspiration perhaps derived from Miranda. There are trivial yet solidly relatable moments: swearing when playing video games, forcefully hoarding food, and aimlessly spraying disinfectant. Keeping busy seems to be the best remedy for loneliness.
Mike Britton turns Arcola Studio into Thomas’s over-sanitised home with a huge cupboard serving efficiently as doorway, pantry, bathroom and storage. Neon light tubes (designed by Chris Davey) hang from the loft above, occasionally changing moods for Thomas from Finland to Mexico, where Thomas dances with Clive. Such “mood-changing” device is controlled by Eleksa, Thomas’s AI assistant. Later, such little pathetic fun is eventually taken from him, as Naomi strips him of access to Eleksa.
Thomas sometimes slips into nostalgia, or daydreams. He fantasises deep connections with others, but he always misses his chances. These people remain mere strangers, irrelevant to him. Clive, his ultimate alter ego, is now also dying from over-watering. He’s now completely alone.
Wynne’s writing is exceptionally solid and witty, and may require a degree of intellectual labour from the audience. Instead of expecting the play to pour everything bare, you are invited to piece together the puzzle of the writing to see the whole picture. You will be awed by the author’s craftsmanship, where almost every detail is purposeful and nothing is left unresolved. I do enjoy that labour.
Bailey keeps Keating constantly in motion, both physically and emotionally. Though Thomas never breaks the fourth wall, Keating maintains great engagement with the audience throughout the 60-minute runtime, offering a performance full of emotional charge and nuanced manoeuvring. At the end, Thomas finally leaves his apartment for the first time in two years. He wanders about until he bumps into a huge tree — solid, rooted, alive, connected with both soil and sky. It’s nothing like Clive.
Does Thomas bear the possibility to change? We don’t know, but we all hope so.
