As a two-handler performed in the intimate confines of Christ’s college chapel, Made of Light is a play that relies heavily on its actors. There is nothing for them to hide behind; the stage is stripped of elaborate scenery, excessive props, or additional lighting. Face-to-face with the audience in surrounding pews, the actors lean into the script, and deliver raw, tender emotion.

In this semi-autobiographical memory play, protagonist Mel (Melania Hamilton) recounts the year she turned sixteen – the same year her close friend takes her own life. Through a series of flashbacks and introspective narration, we peer in on the story of Mel’s relationship with Rebekah (Flossie Adrian). Pre-existing concerns about how an amateur student production would grapple such a sensitive subject matter in a way that felt purposeful and meaningful dissipated the moment the actors embraced in the first scene; they were emotive and warm as they swayed in silence. The rest of the story holds us in this state of timelessness. Time is fluid and ambiguous, as we move between a teenage bedroom, a river, a chapel, and a New Year’s Eve party. In just an hour, the play spans several years.

“It is a play that resonates with the universal experience of wanting to be understood”

The script is well-crafted, urging us to reckon with the complexities of life and death. What does it mean to be understood, or to be loved? When does devotion become infatuation? How can grief be processed alongside agonising growing pains? Melania’s writing deftly navigates these questions with its haunting portrayals of understanding and remembrance. Despite its heavy subject matter, the play approaches the topic of suicide, self-harm, and substance abuse with sensitive touch. This isn’t to say that they skirt around the issue; on the contrary, we are presented with a deeply personal reflection on losing a friend and the violence of relationships that leave sniffles echoing through the audience, and tears rolling down faces. But the play homes in on the gentleness of friendship, first love, and the lightness to be found in life and death. The motifs of light and dark are perfectly embodied by Flossie Adrian’s depiction of Rebekah, who juggles the gravity of their character’s fate with the brightness of her being. The script is moving. It is sad, not in a bawl-your-eyes-out disheartening kind of way. Rather, in a melancholy but uplifting appreciate-what-you-have kind of way. It is a play that resonates with the universal experience of wanting to be understood, growing pains, and dealing with the complexities of mental health.

Some dialogue was lost to the acoustics of the setting, leaving a few lines unintelligible. Otherwise, performances were virtually faultless, without a single stumbled line or missed cue. Melania Hamilton, playing herself, gives a beautiful depiction of grief and adoration. Lacing memories together – of parties, growing up, and Romeo and Juliet - her monologues feel personal and meditative. She invites the audience into her psyche, which becomes even more compelling as she reveals that the story is based on her own life experience. Flossie Adrian is ethereal, floating in and out of the chapel with an angelic likeness that appears to blur the boundaries of life and death.

Occasional sarcastic remarks and joking comments in the script do little to dispel the aura of calm and transfixion that has settled over the audience. Our gaze flits between the two actors as we peer in on moments that are intimate and touching. The characters are interconnected, carefully choreographed by directors Rafaella Sero and Keziah Prescod so that they constantly find their way back into embrace. This is perfectly encapsulated in the New Year’s Eve vignette, where a long red ribbon ties the characters together at opposite ends of the room in a seamlessly executed piece of physical theatre. In the long space that required our heads to be constantly shifting from one end of the chapel to the other, the ribbon anchors our gaze. The blood-red connects them, and transports us to the hospital waiting room that the characters find themselves in.

“It is in this simplicity that Made of light shines brightest”

Despite dealing with complex emotions and the difficulty of processing grief and love, this is a play that searches for simplicity. Made of Light finds its stage amidst the flickering glow of candles that adorn the pews and altar. Like the set, costumes are stripped-back, as the two characters are dressed casually before entering in black and white ball dresses. It is in this simplicity that Made of light shines brightest. The soundscape is equally pared down, as the gentle strains of Theo Horch’s piano waft into the room and mingle with Mel’s tears, the rawness of her emotion reverberating around the chapel.

“I think it would be lonely to be something nothing wants to kill”, Rebekah remarks in the first half of the play. Dark but casual comments such as this scatter shade through the otherwise vivid memories of youth’s lightness. Perhaps the brutal themes deserved slightly more grit mixed in with a romantic and sentimentalised portrayal of illness, but the subject matter never once feels unserious, and the brightness emanating from the characters creates an almost hauntingly tragic nostalgia.

This play is a must-see, fuelled by absorbing performances from actors who capture the essence of young love, ultimately drawing the audience into a world of light and darkness.

Made of Light is showing at Christ’s College Chapel until Friday 1st March