Hell has been realised in Milli Bhatia’s production of Sonali Bhattacharyya’s Women’s Prize-nominated play, King Troll (The Fawn). With a sudden flash of light, the audience is plunged into horror, with darkness and a sense of trepidation mounting as the play progresses. Bhatia has pulled out every ounce of dread from Bhattacharyya’s script to make it a full, immersive experience. With piercing sound design by XANA that makes the whole theatre rumble and crack and a set by Rajha Shakiry that looks like its been lifted from a nightmare, the result is a play that warns, frights and chills us to the bone.
We’re never told exactly what ‘island’ the characters live on is, but the dystopian world of King Troll never feels too far away from our own. Sisters Riya and Nikita have been left to fend for themselves after their mother’s death. But with Riya’s citizenship in question, she’s unable to work and make the money for their rent each month. And with no one to sponsor her claim to stay and a meeting with the Home Office on the horizon, things are unlikely to get better.
Both sisters are desperate for a place they can properly call home. So, in a last ditch attempt, Riya and Nikita visit one of their mother’s old friends who lives far away from the rest of civilisation. Played by Ayesha Dharker with a wide-eyed, witchy energy, she offers Riya an unexpected, alternative way out. The catch? Riya has to lean into dark magic and summon a fawn to protect her.
There is gore and plenty of jump scares. But, Bhattacharyya’s play is also a meticulous exploration of the migrant experience, that tackles the deep injustices of border control head-on. The actors are golden too – particularly Dominic Holmes who transforms into The Fawn in front of our eyes. Holmes is an expert physical performer – he bends over, contorted, and is Golum-like throughout. But even more monstrous are the words he croaks out. The Fawn is the embodiment of our darkest, most selfish thoughts. The bits of us that think we’re better than others. Or resents having to pretend we’re nice. ‘I am you,’ he says.
The play takes the shape of a sort of prophecy. The opening speech, read by the demonic voice of The Fawn, signals his later arrival. ‘Somewhere in this room there is someone who isn’t who they’re pretending to be,’ it says. But, as the play rolls forwards and Riya is steadily sucked into an easier life, Bhattacharya words make us question our own morality, too. How far would we go to protect ourselves? We wonder. If we got the chance, would we even abandon our own?
Some of the scenes between Nikita and Tahir, the asylum-seeker she supports, lack charge compared to the rest of the play. But, King Troll remains a thumping parable about the human crimes of now. Digging into what it means to be othered, this production sizzles and stings.
