"Saying so much to say nothing… doing so much to do nothing"

Gemma has suddenly ceased to speak. Her friends, family, and lovers struggle to come to terms with this dramatic development. Each of their attempts to coax her out of silence leads to an unravelling of their own insecurities and closely held secrets. From this simple yet original premise, Anthony Minghella’s Cigarettes and Chocolate draws back the layers of façade that colour our every conversation and discourse, highlighting the deterioration of language from an honest means of communication to an instrument of deceit. Although a typical product of late-1980s Thatcherite culture, director Emily Galvin’s production at the ADC succeeds in planting Minghella’s play firmly in the 21st century. 

In a play founded upon silence, one of the biggest challenges to actors and directors alike is keeping the production engaging. Gemma (Amiya Nagpul) has achieved just that. She embraced the comedic elements of her opening monologue well, while not overplaying the part, and her gesticulations were never heavy-handed. One recurring criticism of earlier productions of Cigarettes and Chocolate was that, in an attempt to compensate for a lack of dialogue, actors playing Gemma would deploy overwrought or excessive facial expressions and mannerisms. Nagpul never fell into this trap, partially due to an intuitive feature of the set, with the chaise longue Gemma reclines upon at a right-angle to the audience. Thanks to this set-up, Gemma is silhouetted in profile, only occasionally glancing right to offer the audience an apt grimace or smirk. 

"Strike grew into the role well, skilfully articulating complex monologues and arguably providing one of the play’s best metaphors for the artificiality of speech"

Gemma’s long-term partner Rob (played by the dynamic Eduardo Strike) provides the play with a nervous, near violent intensity, cutting an ostensibly heartless contrast with the love-struck Alistair (Comrie Saville-Ferguson) and loquacious Gail (Emily Collinson). After a few of very minor slips, no doubt down to simple first-night nerves, Strike grew into the role well, skilfully articulating complex monologues and arguably providing one of the play’s best metaphors for the artificiality of speech: 'You listen to it as this hits the water. Splash. Then it’s gone.' The epitome of the materialist, emotionally-suppressed, and deceitful society that an obsession with money creates, Rob contributes dark humour and a drive to the narrative of a production that may otherwise have run out of steam. 

"Rob contributes dark humour and a drive to the narrative of a production that may otherwise have run out of steam"

Loaded silences, fraught with awkward subtext, are clearly central to this production. By framing the actors with a matte black backdrop, nothing can distract from the nervous finger tapping of Lorna (Fran Davis), affected mannerisms of Rob, and the clumsy glances of Gail. Silences also draw attention to the superfluity of conversation topics: 'traffic', 'weather', 'Vietnamese babies', and empty compliments about outfit choices. While the stop-start nature of many of the dialogues is clearly intended, it did leave me desiring more knowledge of characters’ shared histories and narratives. However, this is possibly an objective of Minghella’s script: people lacking in the means of honest communication cannot possess true shared histories or friendships.

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For me, the psychological climax of the production came near its end, in the form of Gail’s confession to Gemma of her secret. Emily Collinson delivered this beautifully: her poignant balance of nervous insecurity was veiled cleverly behind a thin veneer of self-assurance. Gemma looks on, as always, caught between indifference and concern – the medium through which we observe her friends’ shortcomings. 

The stage, well managed by Gabriel Humphreys, was minimalist in its construction. Three separate sets, comprised of two chairs each, provided a simplistic, yet apt metaphor for how contrived language can force people into their own compartmentalized worlds: when one set of chairs is occupied, we are always aware of the absence of people in the other two darkened sections. In turn, lighting was managed well, and sounds were skilfully coordinated with the action on stage. 

"This production articulates such acerbic commentary with a candid ease"

Cigarettes and Chocolate was never marketed as an exhilarating or invigorating work of theatre. Rather, it aims to provoke thought, and comment on subtle norms of speech masking hidden agendas. As Gemma herself advises in her closing monologue: 'Don’t speak for a day and then start looking…look at the world about its business. The snarl. The roar. The madness.' This production articulates such acerbic commentary with a candid ease