After a tragedy, finding the right words is notoriously difficult. Small gestures feel strange and inadequate. Fran Kranz's intensely naturalistic film-turned-play, now staged at the Donmar Warehouse, begins with tortuous preparations for a fraught meeting between two couples: the parents of a high school shooter and the parents of one of his victims. There is flustered debate about the angle of the table and how conspicuous the unavoidable box of tissues should be, with nothing feeling quite right. Then, the play moves on to infinitely weightier struggles in an agonisingly intense, beautifully performed study of a couple's search for forgiveness.
A Carefully Crafted Setting
Kranz's play is deeply interested in small details, so it is fitting that Carrie Cracknell's production unfolds in designer Anna Yates's transportingly accurate recreation of an Episcopal church meeting room in an unnamed North American town, complete with children's art and an untidy kitchen. The striking, modernist row of windows is a great source of pride for church worker Judy (Susie Trayling), who feels the influx of light will facilitate a blessed meeting of minds. Her awkward lackey Brandon (Amari Bacchus) is less sensitive to the carefully created mood, cracking jokes and trying to elbow his way into a meeting he seems curiously invested in. Then facilitator Kendra (Rochelle Rose) arrives, staggering the arrival of the two couples so that their first meeting takes place on this carefully prepared neutral territory.
An Intense Debate on Grief and Blame
All this preamble is not strictly essential to the meat of Kranz's play, which is an intense debate about grief, blame, and finding meaning in loss. But it eases the audience into its world and shows how deeply invested a whole community is in this conversation. Things start off on the wrong foot, with the victim's furious father Jay (an impassioned Adeel Akhtar) and more conciliatory mother Gail (a sensitive Lyndsey Marshal) launching into a broadside about the need for gun control. The shooter's parents feel like they are from a different end of the political spectrum – a different generation, even. As Linda, Monica Dolan holds out a bunch of hand-picked flowers that tremble violently, even as she tries to keep her face composed. She is heartbreaking to watch as she insists on finding meaning in her son's short life, however painful that might be. By her side, a formally dressed Paul Hilton brings a compelling stiffness to Richard that Jay determinedly chips away at, mistaking it for a lack of feeling. When he breaks down, it is horrible to watch.
A Universal Story
It is easy for UK viewers to meet stories of school shootings with simple, emotionally blunted responses: 'Thank god that couldn't happen here,' we tell ourselves. But what is welcome about Kranz's subtle writing here is the way he shows that radicalisation and self-hatred can happen to young men anywhere, adding to a conversation aired by last year's Netflix drama Adolescence. Hayden starts out as an odd, lonely little boy who carries a jar of snails for company. His parents are so relieved when he finds actual friends that they do not ask too deeply who they are, or what it is that is keeping him on his computer day or night. They think they are good parents – or thought they were.
A Powerful Theatrical Experience
Kranz's film of Mass premiered at Sundance to warm reviews in 2021, but he originally intended it to be a play. And it really does shine on the Donmar's small stage, where an audience can see close-up how a single space shifts from an impersonal meeting place into an almost spiritual site of reconciliation. Words are never enough, but they can still reduce a room to tears. Mass is at the Donmar Warehouse until 6 June.
