Emilie Hope
This is not my first Wright&Grainger show. The first one was Orpheus in 2019 which I adored. There is a special way with which Alexander Wright tells story, an old, slam-poet, fireside style, which is replicated in Helios. Unlike Orpheus, which was a modern retelling of the myth, Helios uses the story of the fall of Phaeton more as a thematic link, an allegory, with some modern elements of the myth transplanted into the story. Ultimately, Helios is the coming-of-age story of a young man in a rural North Yorkshire village (close to the famous hill where the song the Noble Duke of York originates) while he also comes to terms with the death of his brother.
The Stage at BATS Theatre is simply set up, with a series of lamps circling a larger lamp in the middle. There is a mic on a stand and a couple of mics nested in their chord piles on the floor — for the audience at certain points. The stage is set in the round and you can choose to sit wherever you like -- being in one of the seats on stage doesn’t really affect how much you are talked to or interacted with (don’t worry, all interactions are verbal). Wright is in the space, greeting us as we come in, although not lingering on any one person. He is warm, welcoming, and wonderfully dressed in a pink and white pinstriped suit over a black singlet, with pink and white sneakers and socks, and a bowler/fedora hat.
There isn’t a lighting cue to start the show, instead Wright gives us a particular look — a wide-eyed, waiting-for-an-answer-to-a-question, kind of look. We settle and he begins the show. At one point, he leaves the stage to turn off the house lights, and then comes back to place the lamps at certain points around the stage so they — you guessed it — look like rays of the sun. Design elements (seating, set, and lighting) of the show are thematically linked to the sun, which is fitting, as the show goes on to delve into how we give nature, especially things like the sun, meaning by giving it attention and a name. Wright is always jovial with the audience, quick with a lighteharted remark, which can only come from years of speaking to the audience and listening to their answers. He asks us for facts about the sun, which a couple of audience members offer, which he then weaves into the show in a couple of places and we all chuckle when they arise. It’s always great when a show can do this, as it adds to the audience’s connection to the piece.
It’s just Wright on stage, which surprised me, as with Orpheus there was Phil Grainger on guitar accompanying him. But here, the music comes from a laptop which Wright returns to every now and then to change tracks. The original music from Grainger beautifully complements the show helping build drama and emphasise softness and pain in the right moments.
Wright is constantly moving about the stage, which means we never tire from watching him. 70 minutes is a long time for one performer to hold a room and Wright does it so effortlessly. He performs to all audience members, sitting around the stage and in the first few rows of the The Stage seating block. There are pieces of orange paper laid around the stage, which are the sections of the show, and so is another way for the audience and himself to visually keep time as the show progresses, just as we keep time with the earth moving around the sun. Occasionally, he gets someone to read, waiting patiently for a brave person to volunteer. He gives them a piece of white paper and a mic and they read everything in bold, while he reads everything else. It being Wellington, the audience puts on quite a good show voice acting. There is a lovely piece of stage magic where he gets someone to time him performing a section of the piece. I won’t ruin it for you, but it’s pretty cool — the audience applauds at the reveal, all of us with a smile on our face.
The elements from the myth are names, and a couple other details. Our main character is called Phaeton, while his father, who’s a commercial aeroplane pilot, is called Helios. Phaeton’s mum and Helios’ wife is called Rhoda. In the garage, is parked a yellow Ford Mercury. Goaded by the school bully turned friend, Michael Dale, Phaeton tells him when he turns 18, his dad will let him fly a plane, any plane he wants.
The death of his brother is delicately scattered throughout the show, each reveal building upon itself. Each reveal hits me in the gut, until we get the full story of how his brother died, giving context to the previous hints, making it all the more powerful. There is a dichotomy between Wright’s storytelling, the poetic flow of it, and the direct dialogue in the show, which is often paired back in a nonchalant way perfectly reminiscent of how teenage boys (both in the UK and here, it seems) talk. I love reading between the lines with these moments of dialogue and it reminds me how so much is left unsaid, or how the depth of one’s feelings are often not reflected in their choice of words.
This is a touching, beautifully crafted show. I completely adore going to see a show at 4pm on a Saturday afternoon (can we please have more matinee shows?!), and I think it brave of the parents who bring along their eight, ten, and twelve year old to see the show. Although, to be fair, I also don’t really know what I’m getting myself into until the show is already over. I would probably say this show is suitable for those aged twelve and up.
Helios is touring Aotearoa New Zealand in April, hitting Wellington, Whanganui, Hastings, Rotorua, Hamilton, and Auckland before departing back to the UK. If you’re keen to see it in Wellington (last show is on Sunday 21st April!), see the BATS webpage for tickets. Catching it elsewhere, visit the Wright&Grainger website here.