Contrary to its title, The Healing Room takes us on a journey through different spaces, both intimate and open. Within the limits of the Black Box Studio at Queen’s, the onus falls particularly upon Finlay Wyer in lighting to communicate the shifting settings. The lighting is perhaps the play’s strongest asset, and truly supports the shifts from the confines of a dark room to the clinical sterility of a psychiatric ward.

Most impressive within this is the handling of the bonfire. Employing only an amber light on the ground against the pitch-black of the set, we are immediately transported into the woods. It is simple, but deeply effective, which is unfortunately more than can be said for the scene in itself.

Yara (Daphne Stavride) leads a ceremony in aid of Samhain, the Celtic festival marking the start of winter, even though it is December. It is hard to tell whether the mispronunciation of the festival’s title is intentional, but the mistake occurs several times – a mistake which I, for one, found rather jarring. If it were intentional, it might help in presenting the gathering as one of Yara’s fads, into which she has pressured her friends. Yet it seems at odds with her character – her characterisation is too sensible throughout the rest of the play to adopt a new religion out of mere whimsy.

"The structure is intriguing, split into before, during, and after ‘The Thing Itself’"

This is a problem with the play more generally. The structure is intriguing, split into before, during, and after ‘The Thing Itself,’ referring to the character, Silas’ (Rob Monteiro) struggles with his mental health following the loss of his brother Arty (May Daws). This is unpicked, however, by a series of flashbacks. Coupled with a more polished script, such a structure would make thrilling theatre. However, one cannot help feeling that Madeline Whitmore’s script could have perhaps benefitted from a little more refinement. Scenes such as the bonfire, although visually effective, do little to enhance the narrative in a meaningful way.

This is particularly true in a brief interlude which sees Yara dancing, whilst Rob (Hugo Aaronson) looks on. The dreamlike quality of the dancing is spellbinding, and the audience is momentarily swept away in the aesthetic beauty. However when we pass by the beauty, we are left to question what the scene actually achieves. Stavride is a very talented dancer, true, but this feels like a moment of wasted time.

"The dreamlike quality of the dancing is spellbinding, and the audience is momentarily swept away in the aesthetic beauty"

I came away from this play not quite sure who exactly the narrative is centred around. The cyclical opening and closing focussing upon Syd (Rosa Savage) and Yara would suggest that it is them; the repeated references to ‘The Thing Itself’ would posit that it is Silas. Perhaps it is both Yara and Rob, for it is their relationship whose journey we follow most closely - though the audience would’ve perhaps benefitted from this being more obvious.

One thing is for certain, and that is that it is not Arty. He appears on stage for only a few short scenes, talks rarely in most, and then generates the greatest sympathy in his one monologue. The development of fraternal love between Sid and Arty underpins the overarching narrative. Daws and Monterio seem to draw strength from one another, heightening the affection until it is painful for the audience. But this affection is easy to lose amongst the variety of other conflicts and arcs being explored.

"At times, it really feels like the play is trying to fit into too many categories at once"

At times, it really feels like the play is trying to fit into too many categories at once. It seems to want to be frank (to the point of crudeness), funny, heartwarming, ‘arty,’ and emotionally devastating all at once. By paring this all down to something more intimate, it really could have become more effective.

The selection of music is the perfect example of how this enforced simplicity really works in the play. The songs chosen are obscure, and experimental – perhaps not what you would have on your everyday playlist – but they are never obtrusive. In fact, it largely slips unnoticed, feeling more like a diegetic eminence from the tension of the scenes than a non-diegetic imposition to provoke an emotional response.

Where The Healing Room is most effective is in its less ambitious qualities. When it pushes against the logical boundaries of what a play can produce, it begins to falter. But when it consolidates the limitations of an 80-minute play in the Black Box Studio, it flourishes.

‘The Healing Room’ showed at Queens’ Fitzpatrick Hall from Thursday 13 until Saturday 15 March, at 8pm.

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