Grief is both universal and unique: we all experience it, but not necessarily in the same way. It’s this idea that writer Tom Wells grapples with in The Departure, directed by Jay Ford at the Lion and Unicorn Theatre. It’s a worthy theme, but the dramatic conceit of The Departure doesn’t really allow it to be explored with enough nuance or depth.
Distraught and exhausted after the funeral of her mother, Lily returns home expecting an empty flat. So she’s all the more surprised to find a stranger in there instead. Ross (played by Wells) has been lent a room by Lily’s flatmate Jules, ahead of an impending international flight. Lily wants him out, but he’s waiting for a courier to deliver his new passport, so the two get to talking. It turns out Ross has plenty of trauma of his own, and an equally complicated relationship with his mother, sparking an emotional back-and-forth about unresolved grief.
Through the characters of Ross and Lily, Wells portrays two different models of grief, and largely pits them against each other. Lily and Ross are established early as polar opposites, by way of some unfortunately broad stereotypes. He’s a friendly Northerner too uneducated to recognise a periodic table; she’s a promising scientist too posh to know what a fencer is. Though they seem genuinely interested in one another’s wellbeing, they spend most of the play getting into pretty serious arguments about how to process, or not process, grief.
While some of this is dramatically interesting, it never quite makes sense within the premise of them being total strangers. There’s certainly something resonant in the idea that it can be easier to talk to a stranger than a friend. But Ross and Lily argue to a level of ferocity, and at times downright nastiness, that defies credibility. It’s clear both have unresolved trauma and a strong desire to connect, but that’s not really enough to satisfyingly explain why either of them is so willing to keep company with a stranger who seemingly just wants to yell at them.
Lily is drawn particularly unsympathetically. She’s anxious and argumentative, confessing to outbursts of rage even prior to her mother’s death. Actor Harriet Chomley portrays her in a neurotic manner, twitchy and uncertain. While it’s possible to feel pity for her grief and her obvious self-hatred, she lacks any distinctly positive character traits to outweigh her cruelty to Ross.
The Departure lacks a distinct narrative structure, favouring wandering conversations that sometimes feel circuitous. While this may be accurate to the nature of processing grief, it leaves the story lacking a satisfying resolution. Wells and Ford have made a valiant attempt to tackle a tricky theme, and there are some interesting ideas bubbling below the surface. But The Departure calls out for more nuanced characters and a clearer narrative arc to bring greater meaning to its scenes of conflict.
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