Review: A TERRIBLE KIND OF FAITH
Review: A TERRIBLE KIND OF FAITH
PETER SCHAFFER'S PSYCHOLOGICAL MASTERPIECE GALLOPS INTO THE ABYSS IN A CAPTIVATING NEW REVIVAL
PETER SCHAFFER'S PSYCHOLOGICAL MASTERPIECE GALLOPS INTO THE ABYSS IN A CAPTIVATING NEW REVIVAL
★★★★☆
★★★★☆
There are plays that entertain, plays that provoke, and plays that leave an audience sitting in stunned silence long after the curtain call. Peter Shaffer's Equus belongs firmly in the latter category. Nearly five decades after its premiere, this extraordinary psychological drama remains one of the most unsettling works in the theatrical canon. Now, in a gripping new revival at the Menier Chocolate Factory, director Lyndsay Posner strips the play down to its bare essentials and uncovers something genuinely frightening beneath its surface: the possibility that madness, passion, and faith may be far more intertwined than we care to admit.
There are plays that entertain, plays that provoke, and plays that leave an audience sitting in stunned silence long after the curtain call. Peter Shaffer's Equus belongs firmly in the latter category. Nearly five decades after its premiere, this extraordinary psychological drama remains one of the most unsettling works in the theatrical canon. Now, in a gripping new revival at the Menier Chocolate Factory, director Lyndsay Posner strips the play down to its bare essentials and uncovers something genuinely frightening beneath its surface: the possibility that madness, passion, and faith may be far more intertwined than we care to admit.
For those encountering Equus for the first time, as I was, the premise alone carries an almost mythic horror. A teenage boy, Alan Strang, has committed an unspeakable act of violence, blinding six horses in a stable. Psychiatrist Dr. Martin Dysart is tasked with understanding why. What begins as a clinical investigation gradually evolves into something far more complex and troubling, as Dysart discovers that the deeper he ventures into Alan's psyche, the less certain he becomes about the very foundations of his profession.
For those encountering Equus for the first time, as I was, the premise alone carries an almost mythic horror. A teenage boy, Alan Strang, has committed an unspeakable act of violence, blinding six horses in a stable. Psychiatrist Dr. Martin Dysart is tasked with understanding why. What begins as a clinical investigation gradually evolves into something far more complex and troubling, as Dysart discovers that the deeper he ventures into Alan's psyche, the less certain he becomes about the very foundations of his profession.
Posner's production wisely avoids overcomplication. There are no elaborate scenic flourishes or visual distractions. Instead, the revival places its trust in the text, the performances, and, most importantly, the physical storytelling. The result is theatre in its purest form.
Posner's production wisely avoids overcomplication. There are no elaborate scenic flourishes or visual distractions. Instead, the revival places its trust in the text, the performances, and, most importantly, the physical storytelling. The result is theatre in its purest form.
The production's most inspired choice lies in its portrayal of the horses. Gone are the masks and costumes that have become synonymous with many productions of Equus. Here, the horses are represented by an ensemble of five young performers—Luke Hodkinson, Aristide Lyons, Zach Parkin, Tommi Sutton, and Moses Ward—whose shirtless bodies are streaked with faded black paint, their movements transforming them into creatures that are simultaneously human and animal.
The production's most inspired choice lies in its portrayal of the horses. Gone are the masks and costumes that have become synonymous with many productions of Equus. Here, the horses are represented by an ensemble of five young performers—Luke Hodkinson, Aristide Lyons, Zach Parkin, Tommi Sutton, and Moses Ward—whose shirtless bodies are streaked with faded black paint, their movements transforming them into creatures that are simultaneously human and animal.
Working alongside Posner, movement director James Cousins creates something remarkable. Drawing from Bertolt Brecht's concept of Verfremdungseffekt, or the alienation effect, the production never allows the audience to forget that these horses are theatrical constructions. Yet paradoxically, this refusal of realism makes them more powerful. Combined with traces of Michael Chekhov's notion of the psychological gesture, every stamp, twitch, and muscular contraction becomes an external manifestation of inner emotion.
Working alongside Posner, movement director James Cousins creates something remarkable. Drawing from Bertolt Brecht's concept of Verfremdungseffekt, or the alienation effect, the production never allows the audience to forget that these horses are theatrical constructions. Yet paradoxically, this refusal of realism makes them more powerful. Combined with traces of Michael Chekhov's notion of the psychological gesture, every stamp, twitch, and muscular contraction becomes an external manifestation of inner emotion.
The effect is hypnotic.
The effect is hypnotic.
Rather than presenting horses as literal animals, Cousins and his performers embody the idea of horses as Alan experiences them: objects of worship, desire, fear, and spiritual transcendence. The decision to make the horses athletic young men proves particularly astute, blurring the boundaries between religious devotion and adolescent sexuality. These are not merely animals inhabiting Alan's imagination. They are sacred idols. They are temptations. They are gods.
Rather than presenting horses as literal animals, Cousins and his performers embody the idea of horses as Alan experiences them: objects of worship, desire, fear, and spiritual transcendence. The decision to make the horses athletic young men proves particularly astute, blurring the boundaries between religious devotion and adolescent sexuality. These are not merely animals inhabiting Alan's imagination. They are sacred idols. They are temptations. They are gods.
The ensemble deserves enormous praise for the sheer physical commitment of their work. Every appearance carries a sense of barely contained power. Among them, Ed Mitchell's portrayal of Nugget emerges as especially affecting. Mitchell imbues the horse with a quiet intelligence and vulnerability that makes Alan's eventual betrayal all the more devastating. Without uttering a word, he creates one of the production's most memorable performances.
The ensemble deserves enormous praise for the sheer physical commitment of their work. Every appearance carries a sense of barely contained power. Among them, Ed Mitchell's portrayal of Nugget emerges as especially affecting. Mitchell imbues the horse with a quiet intelligence and vulnerability that makes Alan's eventual betrayal all the more devastating. Without uttering a word, he creates one of the production's most memorable performances.
At the center of the play stands Noah Valentine in a ferociously committed turn as Alan Strang. It is an extraordinary performance, one that never seeks sympathy through sentimentality. Valentine presents Alan as both deeply damaged and terrifyingly sincere. His intensity stems not from simple instability but from an all-consuming belief system of his own creation.
At the center of the play stands Noah Valentine in a ferociously committed turn as Alan Strang. It is an extraordinary performance, one that never seeks sympathy through sentimentality. Valentine presents Alan as both deeply damaged and terrifyingly sincere. His intensity stems not from simple instability but from an all-consuming belief system of his own creation.
Watching him shift between withdrawn silence and explosive fanaticism is genuinely unnerving. His eyes seem perpetually fixed on something invisible to everyone else. At times, he appears trapped within himself; moments later, he erupts with an almost frightening force. It would be easy to portray Alan as a straightforward villain or a tragic victim. Valentine does neither. Instead, he reveals a young man whose violence emerges from a distorted form of love, faith, and longing. That complexity makes the performance all the more disturbing.
Watching him shift between withdrawn silence and explosive fanaticism is genuinely unnerving. His eyes seem perpetually fixed on something invisible to everyone else. At times, he appears trapped within himself; moments later, he erupts with an almost frightening force. It would be easy to portray Alan as a straightforward villain or a tragic victim. Valentine does neither. Instead, he reveals a young man whose violence emerges from a distorted form of love, faith, and longing. That complexity makes the performance all the more disturbing.
If Valentine provides the production's fire, Toby Stephens supplies its soul.
If Valentine provides the production's fire, Toby Stephens supplies its soul.
As Dr. Martin Dysart, Stephens delivers a performance of tremendous intelligence and emotional depth. His Dysart begins as a man fascinated by a difficult case, approaching Alan with the confidence of a seasoned professional. Yet with each revelation, that confidence begins to crumble.
As Dr. Martin Dysart, Stephens delivers a performance of tremendous intelligence and emotional depth. His Dysart begins as a man fascinated by a difficult case, approaching Alan with the confidence of a seasoned professional. Yet with each revelation, that confidence begins to crumble.
Stephens charts this unraveling with remarkable precision. Tiny moments of doubt gradually accumulate into a profound existential crisis. By the final act, Dysart is no longer attempting to cure Alan; he is questioning whether the cure itself is an act of destruction. Is it possible that society demands normality at the expense of passion? Is sanity merely another form of conformity?
Stephens charts this unraveling with remarkable precision. Tiny moments of doubt gradually accumulate into a profound existential crisis. By the final act, Dysart is no longer attempting to cure Alan; he is questioning whether the cure itself is an act of destruction. Is it possible that society demands normality at the expense of passion? Is sanity merely another form of conformity?
These questions haunt the play, and Stephens ensures they land with devastating force.
These questions haunt the play, and Stephens ensures they land with devastating force.
His final monologue is a masterclass in controlled anguish. He allows the character's despair to emerge through painful honesty. It is a performance that leaves the audience emotionally exposed, wrestling with questions that offer no easy answers. The silence that followed his final lines on the evening I attended felt less like appreciation and more like collective shock.
His final monologue is a masterclass in controlled anguish. He allows the character's despair to emerge through painful honesty. It is a performance that leaves the audience emotionally exposed, wrestling with questions that offer no easy answers. The silence that followed his final lines on the evening I attended felt less like appreciation and more like collective shock.
The supporting cast contributes strong work throughout, helping maintain the production's relentless tension. Posner understands that Equus functions best when treated not as a mystery but as a collision between competing philosophies. The play's true conflict is not between doctor and patient, but between order and passion, reason and faith, civilization and instinct.
The supporting cast contributes strong work throughout, helping maintain the production's relentless tension. Posner understands that Equus functions best when treated not as a mystery but as a collision between competing philosophies. The play's true conflict is not between doctor and patient, but between order and passion, reason and faith, civilization and instinct.
If the production occasionally reveals some of the script's age—certain plot mechanics feel more functional than organic, and a handful of scenes lack the dramatic urgency of the strongest material—these are relatively minor blemishes on an otherwise commanding revival.
If the production occasionally reveals some of the script's age—certain plot mechanics feel more functional than organic, and a handful of scenes lack the dramatic urgency of the strongest material—these are relatively minor blemishes on an otherwise commanding revival.
What remains astonishing is how contemporary Shaffer's central questions continue to feel. In an era increasingly concerned with mental health, identity, and the pressures of social conformity, Equus retains a startling relevance. The play refuses to offer comfortable conclusions. Instead, it forces us to confront uncomfortable possibilities.
What remains astonishing is how contemporary Shaffer's central questions continue to feel. In an era increasingly concerned with mental health, identity, and the pressures of social conformity, Equus retains a startling relevance. The play refuses to offer comfortable conclusions. Instead, it forces us to confront uncomfortable possibilities.
Can someone truly be cured if the cure destroys what makes them unique?
Can someone truly be cured if the cure destroys what makes them unique?
Can passion exist without obsession?
Can passion exist without obsession?
And who, ultimately, gets to define normality?
And who, ultimately, gets to define normality?
I arrived with only a passing familiarity with Equus. I left shaken, fascinated, and deeply moved. Few productions manage to be simultaneously terrifying and profoundly humane. Fewer still linger in the mind for days afterward.
I arrived with only a passing familiarity with Equus. I left shaken, fascinated, and deeply moved. Few productions manage to be simultaneously terrifying and profoundly humane. Fewer still linger in the mind for days afterward.
Lyndsay Posner's revival achieves precisely that.
Lyndsay Posner's revival achieves precisely that.
This is not an easy evening at the theatre. It is not meant to be. But it is a powerful one: intelligent, provocative, and performed with astonishing commitment. In stripping away spectacle, Posner has uncovered the raw nerve at the heart of Shaffer's masterpiece.
This is not an easy evening at the theatre. It is not meant to be. But it is a powerful one: intelligent, provocative, and performed with astonishing commitment. In stripping away spectacle, Posner has uncovered the raw nerve at the heart of Shaffer's masterpiece.
The result is a production that stares directly into the darkness—and dares the audience to look back.
The result is a production that stares directly into the darkness—and dares the audience to look back.
Eqqus - Menier Chocolate Factory
Attended on 2 June 2026