Burton Taylor : Tuesday 9th -Saturday 13th March; 7.30pm

“I couldn’t help feeling that many of the lines were delivered in a laboured and over-stressed way, particularly in the case of the Miller (Griffith Rees), who at times inexplicably resembled a pantomime villain and not the supposedly educated and intelligent man he was intended to be.” Madeline Wright ★★★★★

“Griffith Rees, however, is excellent as the enlightened outcast, the village miller. At first an insidious social pariah, Rees’ performance subtly develops the different facets of his character, as a man possessed of compassion and illuminating wisdom.” Vicky Pearce ★★★★★

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Knives in Hens ★★★★★

Review by Madeline Wright

I didn’t mean to laugh. Really I didn’t. But come on, I’m human – when someone goes behind a screen and starts making loud sex-noises, intending to portray a MAN HAVING SEX WITH A HORSE, it’s kind of hard not to.

Still, doing the dirty is a bit of a theme in this play. Set in an unidentified, unnamed pre-industrial rural world where God, wheat, sex and yes, horses, seem to be the main focus in life, it tells the story of one woman’s encounter with a Miller, whose pen and papers enables her discovery of language and the knowledge of how to name things; this leads to a growing awareness of her world (most importantly and, er, notably, her husband’s penchant for hot horse action).

As you might be able to tell from the title, it’s a decidedly weird and actually quite scary play which relies a lot on atmosphere and language – and this production certainly succeeded on the former count. A simple set (a hay-strewn floor, a bowl of water and a table and chair), effective lighting and a clever use of eerie music and sound created a believable and often extremely creepy atmosphere in which the characters slip, dreamlike, in and out of the light and dark, with the intimate setting and square stage increasing the sense of claustrophobia and fear present throughout.

In terms of language, though, Knives In Hens fell somewhat short. I couldn’t help feeling that many of the lines were delivered in a laboured and over-stressed way, particularly in the case of the Miller (Griffith Rees), who at times inexplicably resembled a pantomime villain and not the supposedly educated and intelligent man he was intended to be. The Woman (Jennifer Hyde) was definitely the standout performance, depicting  some really lovely moments of emotional truth in the scenes in which she comes to terms with her growing awareness, but much of the overall delivery dragged and made parts of the beginning in particular a bit tedious.

I also wasn’t sure about some of the quick-fire scenes – I could tell that the play relied on scene change to denote time passing and character development, but scenes which appeared and disappeared before your eyes without much happening became somewhat wearing and made it hard to focus. I suspect it might well be a weakness in the script rather than with the direction or acting, because when the characters were given longer, meatier scenes to get to grips with, the whole thing seemed to tighten up and become much more compelling.

Knives In Hens is a bit of a mixed bag, then – the laboured delivery can get a bit much and some of the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it scene changes are disorientating, but it’s got a really excellent atmosphere, some good acting and a lot of genuinely creepy moments. And that’s without even mentioning  the horse-sex.

Knives in Hens ★★★★★

Review by Vicky Pearce

David Harrower’s Knives in Hens is a deceptively simple play, ostensibly concerning a love-triangle in a pre-industrial village community. The play, however, is fundamentally an exploration of the power – and powerbrokers- of language. A young woman’s journey to self-expression and autonomy is charted through her gradual mastery of words. The woman’s harnessing of language; that is, the power to name rather than be named, becomes the vehicle of her emancipation.

Harrower’s play opens with the young woman firmly subjugated to language. Her husband William’s comparison of her to ‘a field’ at first seems a clumsy attempt at poetic flattery. However, as the play develops, the dehumanising implications of this seemingly innocuous metaphor are explored. Later, as her husband – a self-described ‘plougher’ of fields- stands over her prone, unconscious body, the audience begins to recognise the danger of being subject to another’s language. Through her relationship with an enigmatic miller, however, the young woman begins her journey towards self-definition. Initially fearful of the inscrutable outcast and his ‘evil stick’ of an ink pen, she is gradually learns from him the vital value of articulacy.

This weighty three-hander is generally well realised and capably acted. Amidst a sparse, straw-strewn set, Joseph Leigh’s innovative and evocative sound design does much to flesh out the atmosphere. Jeremy Neumark Jones is well cast as the gruffly oppressive husband. His occasional violent outbursts are ably handled, and he maintains an aura of veiled intimidation throughout his performance. Jennifer Hyde also does well with a demanding role. She captures the young wife’s tension between timidity and wilfulness, and her fervent superstition is skilfully portrayed with quivering conviction. Unfortunately though, her character’s arc from unworldly ignorance to literacy and empowerment never quite convinces. Her final incarnation as an intellectually (and sexually) potent woman feels somewhat disjointed from the prevailing tenor of her performance. Griffith Rees, however, is excellent as the enlightened outcast, the village miller. At first an insidious social pariah, Rees’ performance subtly develops the different facets of his character, as a man possessed of compassion and illuminating wisdom.

Although at times this production lacks pace and vitality, the complex and multi-layered script is generally well negotiated by a skilled cast. Ultimately, the low-key staging allows the compelling theme of the play to shine through: a woman’s escape from a system of signification which reduces her to merely the ‘horseman’s wife’; a fallow field to be ploughed.