A patchwork narrative of treacherous journeys: Kin by Gecko

National Theatre, London
January 16, 2024

Kin is the eighth stage production by Ipswich based Physical Theatre company Gecko, led by, and featuring, Amit Lahav. It was Lahav’s grandmother who voyaged from Yemen to Palestine as a child in 1932, and this story plants the seed for Kin. The result, however, expands multi-directionally in a densely packed, patchwork narrative of the countless treacherous journeys embarked on by those fleeing plight.

The show is multilingual, a characteristic of Gecko. Kin represents a multiplicity of cultures, bound by universal experience of migration. Dialogue flutters away quietly beneath the music; we gauge meaning from tone and bodily emphasis. The medley of languages infuses each scene with contrast and personality, despite some cultural stereotypes.

The set is simple, a wooden shack and a string of lights, and a circular portion of stage that rotates beneath the performers, creating the sensation of passing time.

We immediately meet the jaunty immigration officers. Bottles in hand and cigarettes perched between their lips, they frolic and stamp in drunken sways to traditional folk music. The concept of a visa is ridiculed with such giddy tomfoolery it is sinister. Words such as ‘protocol’ stand out glaringly, one of many de-humanising nouns that laden political language. With a swift drop in lights, they are spotlighted at various tables, violently thumping their fists to ominous rhythmical drums.

There are two central family units. Between flustered montages of domestic mundanities, they reckon with their peril. Gracious arms plead upwards in desperation, and other times, dig downwards with fuelled determination. Chants conjure a sense of building hope, despite the persecution at their doorstep. Later at sea, their efforts dribble out of their fragile bodies as they turn towards the moon and lethargically tap their fingers against their forehead, as if time ticks too slowly. The other family only make it across the border when they chalk their faces white, a metaphor of identities sacrificed for a safer life.

More often than not, dance occurs in group unison, as if used to consolidate an action or emotion. The immigrants unite with resolution or anguish, the officers gather with impish, fireside bounce. The creases of individuality have not been ironed smooth from movement; it remains delightfully unpolished in its finer details, and yet musically and choreographically tight.

Though not unusual to use a culmination of soundtracks for physical theatre, the music barrels through moments that might have benefited from softness; but this is not Gecko’s style. At times overwhelmingly loud, violins dictate emotion before we can register the narrative, and orchestral bursts exasperates an already busy array of movement and voices. The show leans heavily into exaggeration, and cartoonlike cinematic impact sounds, although the laugher they stir is welcome.

Interactions unravel at frantic, wired speed, and leave one craving more of the subtler moments that strike most. A hanging light shade swings in the darkness as shadows flit about beneath it like apparitions. Vanessa Guevara Flores dances a tender gestural sole, her arms thread over and under one another as if unfolding a scroll, lilting in heartbroken little circles. And on a sparse stage, the cast donning orange life jackets, they plunge from uniformed lines, grabbing and hugging the air, before tumbling into an arresting riptide. Swirling, and surrendering their volition to the waters pull. This simple moment rendered most the greater picture; a sweep of suffering, but also the grit of survival spurred within.  

Kin brims with narratives that confuse. Performers slip in and out or roles. The deafening soundtrack leaves minimal space to reflect. Anger, fear and panic manifest in similar ways with a flurry of voices and movement. Though each scene remains tethered to the central intention, it is difficult to feel genuinely connected to individual narratives because there are simply so many, and a lack of distinction in tone.

As a production it is convoluted, addicted to a chaos of elements. The stage is not a static but restless, reflecting a voyage forced to divert sideways and go backwards with relent, in its desire to move forward. The nature of being unsettled is restless, but being settled also comes with unthinkable costs. Home is suspended and elusive, family are scattered, left behind.

Albeit left slightly numb from a show that hurls itself to our every sense, Gecko are nothing if not vigorously committed to storytelling through movement. Kin is received graciously, for its solidarity, and its pertinence to the horrors that persist worldwide. And undeniably, it lands particularly well in London, the very city of cultural diversity.

Kin by Gecko, part of MimeLondon, is at the National Theatre to January 27, 2024.