A View into the Verboten with ‘The Window’ (Review)

“In the darkness, you find yourself at the heart of a story about the things families don’t talk about.”

Alzheimer’s runs in my family. That’s my (hopefully) nonchalant way of admitting that I try not to think too hard about the disease when I don’t have to. It’s also why sitting down to review The Window wasn’t high on my “things that sound like a ton of fun” list last week. I was still curious about the show, though. What does immersive theatre about a degenerative disease even look like? I wasn’t sure. But theatre, when it’s at its best, is a mirror. And the possibility of seeing my own experience reflected in somebody else’s art was too strong a draw for me to ignore. So when the time came for me to consider this 45-minute immersive audio play, I found a quiet corner, closed my eyes as requested, and dove in.

The Window is a recipient of Alzheimer’s Research UK’s inaugural Inspire Fund. It’s also Fast Familiar’s second collaboration with University College London’s Dr. Sarah-Naomi James. This time they’ve come together to tell the story of three generations touched by Alzheimer’s: 50-something Kathryn Osborn, her mother Mary, and her adult son Tom. The show kicks off with a charmingly brief introduction that asks listeners to find a blindfold, not because “something spooky or scary will happen — it’s not that kind of story” but because immersion is easier if our brains aren’t distracted by visual information. Can theatre have a bedside manner? If so, the opening of The Window put me in mind of sitting with an especially competent family doctor. I was told what to expect, right down to the minute, and I appreciated the context. It was comforting. It made me want to trust whatever might come next.

What came next was a slice-of-life drama that put me at the center of Kathryn’s struggle to accept and understand her mother’s experience with Alzheimer’s disease. It’s immediately clear that Kathryn is avoiding saying the A-word out loud. Instead, she talks about “memory problems,” “the diagnosis,” and not knowing “who to ask for advice.” She’s angry and frustrated, but still trying to do right by a parent who refuses to engage with the concept of Alzheimer’s and a son who wants to change their family’s trajectory. The tension in this piece comes from what happens when the boundaries between Kathryn’s work as a radio personality and her roles as child, parent, and caregiver begin to blur. We join Kathryn shortly before she learns that her next guest at work is going to be Alzheimer’s expert, Dr. Sophie Evans.

Part of what works well in The Window is how realistically complex the characters of Kathryn, Mary, and Tom feel. Writer Rachel Briscoe spoke on a post-show discussion panel about the challenge of getting her audience to empathize with an unlikable protagonist. I was surprised to hear that this was something the creative team had intentionally decided to explore. I related so strongly with Kathryn — her character seemed completely organic. Was she that unlikable? She was scared, sure; overwhelmed and curt. But that’s exactly how I would have responded in her shoes. It wasn’t until she plucked words out of my own brain that I realized how thoroughly Briscoe and team had managed to align us, the audience, with their protagonist. “To be honest,” Kathryn says about her mother’s condition, “I don’t really like to think about it. Apart from the practical stuff obviously.” I can’t tell you how close that was to a line I wrote and deleted about a dozen times from the beginning of this review. Kathryn’s approach to Alzheimer’s looked just like mine. She was my mirror for the evening.

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Unlike some of Fast Familiar’s earlier remote shows, The Window is not interactive. Audience members are not asked to take up the mantle of a “playable character.” Instead, we are invited to ride along invisibly on Kathryn’s (and occasionally Tom’s) shoulder. The show’s soundscape drifts between ambient music that teases out bits and pieces of someone else’s memory — children laughing, birds taking flight — and the more mundane noises of present-day life. More than once, a phone rang in-show and I took off my headphones to see who was calling. It’s this binaural experience from sound designer Richard Hammarton that tips the play from traditional narrative into “immersive experience.” Rich, detailed, three-dimensional audio gives us an opportunity to imagine what we might do in the moments Kathryn shares with her family, with doctors, and with her co-workers. Dr. James came to this project because The Window “was a fantastic opportunity to place listeners in a story exploring dementia, and the hope created by research.” Fast Familiar’s decision to pair such a universal narrative with specifically intimate audio is a large part of why The Window succeeded in communicating Dr. James’ message.

Kathryn’s angry refusal to listen to reason, for instance, was both familiar and personally uncomfortable. I’d have been angry in her shoes. But sitting next to her anger — trying to distance myself from it — I was able to absorb information that I might not have absorbed in real life. She became a foil for my education. Did you know that dementia and Alzheimer’s aren’t the same thing? I didn’t. “Dementia is the umbrella name for a group of symptoms that often involve memory, personality and thinking. Whereas Alzheimer’s disease is the most common disease that causes dementia.” The fact that it’s been four days and the difference is still crystal-clear in my head is a testament to the educational power of storytelling: a tool that Director Dan Barnard wields with impressive precision.

That said, there were a few artistic flourishes that detracted from my overall experience of the piece. The score occasionally borders on inspirational and there’s a refrain about inheritance from Kathryn that struck me as off-character. For me, that shift towards poetry felt contrived and unnecessary. I very much get the impulse to lean towards something other than “just the facts, ma’am,” when it comes to stories about memory, love, and grief. But this was a case of gilding an otherwise lovely and robust lily. I would have enjoyed being trusted, as an audience member, to navigate shifts between memory and present-day using audio cues instead of such a self-conscious bridge.

Ultimately, I enjoyed The Window more than I thought I would. Which is to say I thought that I’d be walking reluctantly up to the edge of my own unexplored personal trauma. Instead, I was embraced by a beautiful piece of audio narrative that gave me space to gently explore something more than half of us experience but don’t discuss. And that’s what The Window turned out to be; a safe space to sit and see my reflection or whatever was on the other side, depending on the light.

The Window continues on April 10 and 11. Tickets are £5 and up.

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