As the lights go up at the King’s Head Theatre, writer Susan Eve Haar invites us to a seedy New York B&B to witness a dysfunctional couple at their lowest ebb. Directed by Abigail Zealey Bess, Echo attempts to navigate incredibly delicate subjects such as reproductive technology, trauma, love, and humanity, but unfortunately struggles under the weight of its ethically complex premise.
Haar’s story is presented to us in two halves. In the first half, She and He, played by Amara Okereke and Kyle Rowe respectively, attempt to celebrate their anniversary. However, as the night goes on, palpable tension gives way to years of conflict, unhealed trauma, and reproductive heartbreak that have left the couple irreparably scarred, leading to a desperate gambit that the second, important half must navigate the ethical ramifications of.
To start with the positives, Peiyao Wang’s set design and Daniel Carter-Brennan’s lighting do a great job of realising the intense, intimate battleground that is the hotel room. A lamp and a single bed create a sense of claustrophobia, trapping our two leads together as the past brings them deeper and deeper into bitter conflict. Meanwhile, clever lighting choices help to create both an unsettling atmosphere and an authentic-looking set for the King’s Head Theatre.
Okereke and Rowe put in committed performances, deftly providing different versions of characters who are often all over the place, mixing together a volatile blend of lust, rage, righteous incredulity, and a desperate, selfish love that makes us question if they should be together at all. Okereke in particular is magnetic, tackling a complicated character with an energy and gravitas that elevates much of the material she’s given.
Unfortunately, Echo’s capable leads are unable to save a story whose execution simply doesn’t live up to its premise. As we’re dropped in the middle of such pivotal moments, the script relies too heavily on unsubtle, exposition-heavy dialogue, with a few flowery non-sequiturs strategically placed between exhaustive monologues forced to spell everything out for us, leaving little room for interpretation and telegraphing what should be massive character moments and plot twists.
Arguably, Echo’s core issue is the lack of breathing room afforded to such big swings. While in some ways this matches the energy of our two breathless lovers, it also means that narrative bombshells see their effectiveness dulled. Instead of letting the magnitude of the events wash over us, the format of the show dictates that a new twist is revealed and then immediately discussed at length, turning the racy horror that was promised into a dense melodrama.
Ultimately, Echo isn’t without merit. It earns some brownie points by attempting to ask some uncomfortable questions and provides a platform for Okereke and Rowe to showcase their range, but it’s hard not to come away from this King’s Head Theatre production feeling that Susan Eve Haar’s psychological thriller simply bit off more than it could chew.
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