CLARKSTON Review: FINDING OCEANS IN UNEXPECTED PLACES
CLARKSTON Review: FINDING OCEANS IN UNEXPECTED PLACES
SAMUEL D. HUNTER'S NEW PLAY IS A TENDER, UNFLINCHING PORTRAIT OF SURVIVAL, LOVE, AND LONGING.
SAMUEL D. HUNTER'S NEW PLAY IS A TENDER, UNFLINCHING PORTRAIT OF SURVIVAL, LOVE, AND LONGING.
★★★★☆
★★★★☆
Samuel D. Hunter’s Clarkston is a quietly devastating piece of theatre that asks us to consider what it means to search—for meaning, for love, for family, for home—when life has handed you more obstacles than answers. Brought to life in Jack Serio’s sensitive and purposeful production at the Trafalgar Theatre, this staging reminds us of Hunter’s particular gift: the ability to take ordinary people in ordinary places and render their struggles epic without ever losing intimacy.
Samuel D. Hunter’s Clarkston is a quietly devastating piece of theatre that asks us to consider what it means to search—for meaning, for love, for family, for home—when life has handed you more obstacles than answers. Brought to life in Jack Serio’s sensitive and purposeful production at the Trafalgar Theatre, this staging reminds us of Hunter’s particular gift: the ability to take ordinary people in ordinary places and render their struggles epic without ever losing intimacy.
The premise itself has the makings of myth, yet the execution is strikingly human. Jake (Joe Locke), freshly arrived from Connecticut, takes a job on the night shift at a Costco in Clarkston, Washington—a town that feels as though it has been left behind by the world. There, he meets Chris (Ruaridh Mollica), who shows him the ropes and, in time, becomes his confidant, friend, and something more. Both men are openly gay, but their openness is laced with complication—Chris having endured familial fracture because of his sexuality, and Jake carrying the unbearable weight of Huntington’s disease while tracing the path of his ancestor, William Clark. Each of them dreams of seeing the Pacific Ocean for the first time, and the journey there becomes as much emotional as it is physical. The parallel struggles with identity, illness, family dysfunction, and longing for escape from the emotional spine of the play.
The premise itself has the makings of myth, yet the execution is strikingly human. Jake (Joe Locke), freshly arrived from Connecticut, takes a job on the night shift at a Costco in Clarkston, Washington—a town that feels as though it has been left behind by the world. There, he meets Chris (Ruaridh Mollica), who shows him the ropes and, in time, becomes his confidant, friend, and something more. Both men are openly gay, but their openness is laced with complication—Chris having endured familial fracture because of his sexuality, and Jake carrying the unbearable weight of Huntington’s disease while tracing the path of his ancestor, William Clark. Each of them dreams of seeing the Pacific Ocean for the first time, and the journey there becomes as much emotional as it is physical. The parallel struggles with identity, illness, family dysfunction, and longing for escape from the emotional spine of the play.
Hunter’s writing is a masterclass in restraint and empathy. He doesn’t preach or lecture; he listens, he observes, he sketches the fragile contours of people doing their best under crushing weight. It’s rare to see a play that feels so authentically lived-in, with dialogue that never feels written for the stage but spoken in the moment. This is theatre stripped of excess sentimentality yet overflowing with feeling—a moving exploration of the human condition and of the messy, often contradictory states of love and loyalty.
Hunter’s writing is a masterclass in restraint and empathy. He doesn’t preach or lecture; he listens, he observes, he sketches the fragile contours of people doing their best under crushing weight. It’s rare to see a play that feels so authentically lived-in, with dialogue that never feels written for the stage but spoken in the moment. This is theatre stripped of excess sentimentality yet overflowing with feeling—a moving exploration of the human condition and of the messy, often contradictory states of love and loyalty.
Serio’s directorial vision leans into that intimacy by keeping the set minimal, allowing us to focus squarely on the characters. Industrial shelving towers over the stage, instantly evoking the anonymous scale of a Costco, while crates and boxes are stacked and restacked, suggesting both the labor of the characters and the emotional baggage they carry. Audience members sit onstage, blurring the line between observer and participant, while actual streetlights help root the world in suburban banality. There were moments where the lighting, by Stacey Derosier, felt slightly disorienting, but the climactic scene at the Pacific Ocean is breathtaking. By flooding the auditorium with spotlights that evoke a setting sun shimmering across waves, Derosier and Serio create an ocean out of light itself. It’s a poetic and deeply theatrical solution that lingers in the imagination.
Serio’s directorial vision leans into that intimacy by keeping the set minimal, allowing us to focus squarely on the characters. Industrial shelving towers over the stage, instantly evoking the anonymous scale of a Costco, while crates and boxes are stacked and restacked, suggesting both the labor of the characters and the emotional baggage they carry. Audience members sit onstage, blurring the line between observer and participant, while actual streetlights help root the world in suburban banality. There were moments where the lighting, by Stacey Derosier, felt slightly disorienting, but the climactic scene at the Pacific Ocean is breathtaking. By flooding the auditorium with spotlights that evoke a setting sun shimmering across waves, Derosier and Serio create an ocean out of light itself. It’s a poetic and deeply theatrical solution that lingers in the imagination.
The small cast of three is uniformly strong, each actor carving out unforgettable moments. Joe Locke, best known for Netflix’s Heartstopper, is magnetic as Jake. He brings an aching vulnerability to the role, portraying the character’s optimism and fragility with equal measure. Locke’s command of an American accent is impressive, but what’s even more striking is the way he imbues Jake with a constant sense of urgency—of someone living against a ticking clock.
The small cast of three is uniformly strong, each actor carving out unforgettable moments. Joe Locke, best known for Netflix’s Heartstopper, is magnetic as Jake. He brings an aching vulnerability to the role, portraying the character’s optimism and fragility with equal measure. Locke’s command of an American accent is impressive, but what’s even more striking is the way he imbues Jake with a constant sense of urgency—of someone living against a ticking clock.
Ruaridh Mollica’s Chris is a revelation. His performance is gut-wrenching, particularly in the later moments when he makes the excruciating decision to cut ties with his mother. Watching Mollica navigate the conflict between love, resentment, and self-preservation is heartbreaking. It’s a reminder of how cruel it can be to choose survival over blood ties, even when survival is the only healthy option.
Ruaridh Mollica’s Chris is a revelation. His performance is gut-wrenching, particularly in the later moments when he makes the excruciating decision to cut ties with his mother. Watching Mollica navigate the conflict between love, resentment, and self-preservation is heartbreaking. It’s a reminder of how cruel it can be to choose survival over blood ties, even when survival is the only healthy option.
Sophie Melville as Trisha, Chris’s mother, delivers perhaps the production’s most visceral moments. Her portrayal of a woman undone by addiction yet desperate for connection is harrowing. The scene in which she lashes out at Chris after his rejection is both terrifying and tragic, her anguish filling the stage in a way that makes it impossible to look away.
Sophie Melville as Trisha, Chris’s mother, delivers perhaps the production’s most visceral moments. Her portrayal of a woman undone by addiction yet desperate for connection is harrowing. The scene in which she lashes out at Chris after his rejection is both terrifying and tragic, her anguish filling the stage in a way that makes it impossible to look away.
Clarkston is not an easy watch, nor should it be. It grapples with illness, abandonment, and cycles of despair, but within that weight, it also finds tenderness and the glimmer of hope. It insists that love—whether familial, platonic, or romantic—can be both a burden and a balm.
Clarkston is not an easy watch, nor should it be. It grapples with illness, abandonment, and cycles of despair, but within that weight, it also finds tenderness and the glimmer of hope. It insists that love—whether familial, platonic, or romantic—can be both a burden and a balm.
This production doesn’t aim for perfection, and at times the pacing lingers more than it should. But what it achieves is far more valuable: honesty. By the end, as Jake and Chris gaze toward a horizon they’ve both longed for, the audience is reminded that the oceans we yearn for aren’t always physical—they’re also the people we let in, and the futures we dare to imagine.
This production doesn’t aim for perfection, and at times the pacing lingers more than it should. But what it achieves is far more valuable: honesty. By the end, as Jake and Chris gaze toward a horizon they’ve both longed for, the audience is reminded that the oceans we yearn for aren’t always physical—they’re also the people we let in, and the futures we dare to imagine.
Clarkston - Trafalgar Theatre
Attended on 23 September 2025