Nicola Walker carries the story of a missing son
Jerwood Theatre Downstairs at The Royal Court
⭑⭑⭑
A boy vanishes without a trace just before his sixteenth birthday. His mother, Miriam, played by Nicola Walker, is devastated. We witness her and her family’s unravelling in the days immediately after his disappearance, one year later, and then seven years later. It’s a harrowing experience for them — but does it make for compelling theatre?
The point of the play is also the problem with it. While the boy’s two siblings and his father gradually attempt to reconcile themselves to his absence, Miriam refuses to accept that her son will not return. The timeline jumps back and forth, as if to show that she never changes, that time has stood still. The family find it increasingly difficult to coexist with her, despite their evident compassion. Their struggle stems partly from her obsessive focus on her missing son and partly from her perpetual anger. Unfortunately, this unchanging emotional state eventually alienates us as well, or alienated me at least.
Nick Payne’s play examines what happens when someone is psychologically unable to move beyond trauma. It’s a fascinating concept in theory, yet as drama, it can feel repetitive — despite the best efforts of the superb director Marianne Elliott, who injects pace and passion into the production.
Nicola Walker delivers an intense and characteristically nuanced performance, complete with her familiar tics and stutters, and emotional authenticity. However, and I hate to say this, after a while her sarcastic giggling at others’ perceived absurdities and repeatedly saying people should go fuck themselves become somewhat wearisome. Convincing as she is, it becomes difficult to remain emotionally invested.
The supporting characters remain sketchily drawn, defined mainly by their reactions to Miriam. Paul Higgins, as the husband, spends much of his time shouting. Alby Baldwin, portraying the elder sibling, grieves in silence. Miriam’s ex-husband, a priest played by Martin Marquez, flounders helplessly. Only the younger daughter (Lucy Thackeray) develops — she finds a partner, becomes pregnant, and tries hardest to reconnect with her mother. “I just want my mum back,” she pleads poignantly.
Walker is on stage almost continuously, while other actors, when not in a scene, sit silently in a dimly lit upstage area. Ordinarily, performers would exit, allowing the illusion that their lives continue offstage. Here, however, the visible ‘waiting room’ seems to symbolise how, for Miriam, her missing son Oscar remains ever-present, whereas everyone else is out of sight out of mind. Defending her attitude, she says that if any of them had disappeared, she wouldn’t give up on them either, but ironically she has. The spare set, designed by Bunny Christie, effectively mirrors Miriam’s single-minded preoccupation.
We glimpse Miriam’s experience over the course of the seven years: the early dealings with the police, subsequent false sightings and internet trolls, and the desperation of spiritualism and prayer. These should-be heart-wrenching moments but they failed to resonate with me, because I never felt sufficiently connected to the characters.
Because there is no story arc, no character development, and no resolution (we never know how or why Oscar disappeared, or whether he is alive or dead), I found the journey a little monotonous and felt deflated rather than emotionally drained by the end. On the other hand, it was interesting and unexpectedly humorous. And, as always, Nicola Walker delivered good value.
The Unbelievers can be seen at The Royal Court until 29 November 2025. Click here to buy tickets direct from the theatre.
Paul paid for his ticket.
