Scorched

In 1991, an elderly man, Jack, sits in his care-home armchair. As reports of the Gulf War come in, his mind collapses into his past as a soldier in world war two. Inspired by writer Lisle Turner’s grandfather, Scorched is a beautiful, mournful piece – a portrait of a life seared into desert sands.

While Jack’s fragmented memories coalesce around his pursuit of a German prisoner in Egypt in 1941, Turner’s play is less about plot and more about effect. Robin Berry gives a riveting performance as a man for whom violence has been a casual companion since childhood. His shifts from Jack’s dementia-stricken, present-day frailty to youthful vigour are deft and fluid.

But the star of this production is its design, with Jack’s care home simultaneously evoking the present and the past in every desert-coloured table and chair, and teacup full of sand. Memories bleed and fade into each part of the set – paper airplanes crashing into a carpet rippled like a dune. As flickering animations play through pouring sand, it’s a mundane space made vast.

Claire Coaché’s production is a poignant playground of recreated juddering journeys and battles. Every element of the small stage space—tables, chairs and cabinets—becomes part of a jaggedly sad and funny fall through time. A puppet made of sandbags is a vital part of the show.

This wistful, brutal, tender piece doesn’t grandstand or shout, speaking instead in a voice that reaches us as a moving lament for all that Jack has lost.