Theatre Review: ‘A Little Life’ Packs a Big Punch

Words by Florence Heaton / Edited by Mia Stapleton

Directing a theatre production is never a straightforward task, let alone when it is an adaptation of Hanya Yanagihara’s divisive masterwork, A Little Life– a book which has faced a multitude of criticisms since its 2015 release. Belgian director Ivo van Hove, along with co-creators Koen Tachelet and Yanagihara, confronted the enormous challenge of reducing the sprawling 814-page novel to just a few hours on stage. But make no mistake, the end result is still devastating.

Following the lives of four friends in New York, the coming of age story explores lawyer Jude (James Norton, Happy Valley), actor Willem (Luke Thompson, Bridgerton), artist JB (Omari Douglas, It’s a Sin) and architect Malcolm (Zach Wyatt, The Witcher) as they aspire to become the best in their respective fields, whilst also contending with the demons of Jude’s past. 

Jan Versweyveld’s set design is sparse but guides the plot, with a sink at the centre of the floor that serves as a focal point for Jude’s self-harming. This is, catastrophically, something he engages in frequently to combat the mental ‘hyenas’ that follow him after an abusive relationship, as well as the years of sexual abuse he endured while being raised in a monastery. Elliott Cowan does an incredible job at playing all three of Jude’s tormentors– Brother Luke, Dr Traylor, and Caleb are monstrous in their own ways, and are all brought chillingly to life by Cowen, who haunts the audience even when he is not on stage. 

This heavy content is carried brilliantly by the lead. Setting aside the fact that Norton does not physically resemble the Jude St Francis of the novel (who is racially ambiguous), it’s hard to imagine how anyone could have embodied this character’s vulnerability, pain, and kindness, quite like he does. Contorting himself into agonising positions across the floor, at others baring himself to the audience, Norton successfully portrays not just the Jude of 30 years old, but Jude at eight, fifteen, and fifty, whilst making each age feel distinct and distinguished. He uses his body in ways that draw the eye to him even when he is not speaking, and when he is, his voice works as a haunting instrument to soundtrack Jude’s melancholy.

His performance is almost, but not quite, enough to make you forget the underutilization of the rest of the characters who, presumably for the sake of runtime, are cut down significantly. Only Jude’s best friend Willem, (played with impressive empathy by Thompson), comes close to fulfilling the important role his book counterpart occupies, specifically in the second act. JB’s betrayals are not nearly as shocking as they were on the page, perhaps because he spends most of the time painting on the side-lines, but that is one sacrifice that van Hove makes to centre Jude’s trauma. The impact of which is even more pronounced visually. 

As readers, we can leave the book at any time, but the relentless onslaught of misery that Jude endures feels all the more unyielding when acted out on a small stage for almost four hours. A 15 minute intermission does little to assuage the devastation that accumulates in the first half, and is certainly not enough time to prepare for the second act. The decision to keep Norton in a progressively bloodied shirt, rather than changing at intermission, is a clever way of showing how the scars of Jude’s abuse are continual and inescapable, even in the small moments of reprieve with his friends and adopted family. Having the other actors lift Norton up onto the operating table is a practicality that fits the narrative– a moment symbolising how these characters recurrently piece Jude back together again out of extreme love for him. This love is arguably the driving force of the novel, and it is gratifying to see it maintained in this adaptation.

Eric Sleichim’s morose score is played to great effect; the use of a live orchestra creates an undercurrent of dread throughout, and the video feed of New York on either side of the stage– turning fuzzy when Jude is suffering most– is a simple way of grounding the production, helping to fill in some spaces that are left by the reduced plot. It is certainly not an easy nor comfortable play to sit through, and the debate over whether Yanagihara’s story is purely ‘torture porn’ is a long and complex one. But what the entire cast and crew achieve here, in bringing Jude’s tragic, profound, immense life to the stage, is by no means a little accomplishment.

(Image Credits: Jan Versweyveld)