On Saturday I saw Love at Birmingham Rep, a transfer from the National Theatre in London. I loved it and I wanted to write about it but it’s been hard to articulate exactly how it moved us all so profoundly. So I’ve collated my thoughts about the show which will never do it justice. In no way is this a review of the show. I didn’t feel like it was right to review it. It warranted an emotional response not an analytical discussion.
Human compassion is delicate and intangible. It gives strength and it complicates us more than we can comprehend.
It can’t save us. It can push us through but it often cannot penetrate to the institutions which have the power to incite change.
Empathy feels like the most powerful and futile of our facets.
Children are light in times of darkness.
Acceptance is difficult. Tolerance is difficult. Sharing, in every sense, is a hard and conflicting necessity.
Theatre is a presentation, a call to action, a story, a representation, a necessity.
We are sat in the lives of the characters. We are sat on the stage. We are sat in the society that crushes them.
We are so close to them and yet we can never be with them.
Being the first person to hold out your hand and help is the simplest and most true show of love.
We are responsible and helpless.
Familiarity is love. Comfort is love. Sacrifice is love.
If one thing endures it has been and always will be love.
I cried at the end. After the bows. It was a release. It was cathartic.
I feel guilty that I could let it go the next morning.