On a bitterly cold London evening, schoolteacher Kyra Hollis (Carey Mulligan) receives an unexpected visit from her former lover, Tom Sergeant (Bill Nighy), a successful and charismatic restaurateur whose wife has recently died. As the evening progresses, the two attempt to rekindle their once passionate relationship, only to find themselves locked in a dangerous battle of opposing ideologies and mutual desires.
David Hare's Skylight originally premiered at the National Theatre in London in 1995 before going on to play smash hit engagements in the West End and on Broadway the following year. When the 2014 production of Skylight opened in the West End in June it was praised by critics on both sides of the Atlantic.
But Hare's play is not a polemic, and the chasm that has grown between Tom and Kyra owes to more than political differences. In this U.K.-based production, directed with compassion and brutal clarity by Stephen Daldry, both emerge as flawed, sympathetic, believable human beings...This Tom, for all his superficial arrogance, is a man overwhelmed with restlessness...We see the flickers of shame and vulnerability behind his imperiousness. Mulligan's Kyra has her own nervous energy, but is more palpably weighed down by repressed passion, and guilt...Sad-eyed and draped in an oversize sweater, Mulligan seems almost physically transformed by her character's premature weariness...Whether Kyra and Tom can reconcile or not, this Skylight assures us, both will endure -- as will the troubled, contradictory world around them.
And yet here they are in David Hare's Skylight, a monkey and a moonbeam, somehow bringing the same story to thrilling life. Nighy, as will be obvious to anyone who saw him in Love Actually or as Davy Jones in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, is the monkey, or perhaps better to call him a Catherine wheel of tics and poses and stutters and quirks. 'Mannered' is not a strong enough word to describe the way he creates the illusion of character from a million incessant, if apparently spontaneous, affectations. (At several points, he struts across the stage sideways, his long legs pointing into the wings while his face stares down the audience.) Meanwhile, as she did in An Education and in the 2008 Broadway production The Seagull, Mulligan creates the illusion of character with no affectations at all. In fact, she hardly seems to be doing anything - and then suddenly tears will fling themselves from her eyes, or a smile will rise from some depth to the surface and recede again. She is as rivetingly, radically transparent as he is hilariously baroque, but in the end that's only fitting; the play, one of Hare's best, is about the gap between what's reconcilable and what's not.
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