
When, late in life, Jennifer decides to marry for the first time, she acquires an American stepdaughter, Delilah, who is still grieving for her mother. What follows is a combustible clash of generations and cultures, sharpened by the fact that both women are haunted by the lingering presence of maternal ghosts. The dynamic between the courteous, self-effacing Jennifer and her truculent, self-absorbed stepchild is riveting, and the playwright Anna Ziegler probes the emotional fault lines of this fraught relationship with sensitivity and intelligence. Yet, despite a title borrowed from T. S. Eliot’s Burnt Norton, the play stops short of grappling with the weightier existential questions that Eliot’s work evokes. Instead, the drama confines itself to a sharply observed portrait of two women bound together by an unexpected remarriage and struggling to negotiate the uneasy territory it creates. The apex of this uneasy triangle never appears on stage. The husband and father remains a faintly sketched presence, serving primarily as a catalyst for the exploration of the central female relationship rather than as a fully realised character in his own right. As Jennifer, Anastasia Hill delivers a deeply sympathetic performance, capturing the quiet bewilderment of a well-meaning, emotionally reticent English spinster abruptly thrust into a maternal role she neither sought nor fully understands. Her portrayal is deftly counterpointed by Erin Kellyman as Delilah, who radiates brittle disdain and adolescent hauteur, yet subtly exposes the raw vulnerability beneath. It is her fear of disloyalty to her mother that lends her hostility its poignant edge. Ziegler has fashioned recognisable, credible characters whose behaviour remains psychologically coherent. Their dilemma resolves much as one might predict, despite some rather forced moments of melodrama along the way. Credit is also due to director Diyan Zora, who successfully sustains tension and focus throughout this ninety-minute one-act play, which, with its minimal action, relies heavily on dialogue and searching interior monologues to unpick the emotional knots at its centre. Ultimately, Evening All Afternoon offers a moving and finely acted study of grief, loyalty and the uneasy forging of new familial bonds. While it may not ascend to the metaphysical heights its title implies, it remains an absorbing, emotionally intelligent examination of love reshaped by loss.
Rated: ★★★★
Reviewed by J.C.
Photo by Marc Brenner
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