A follow-up to the vastly different Eureka Day performed at the Old Vic in 2022, Jonathan Spector’s new play This Much I Know is a more cerebral exploration of how the brain works, the assumptions that our minds make about different experiences and the application of different kinds of knowledge. Exploring notions of cognitive dissonance, heuristics and types of bias is a big ask for a theatre production running at only 2 hours, requiring a fair amount of exposition and audience education to make sense of the multi-narrative plot in which Spector plays with timelines and character development in the search for something much more ambiguous.
Showing in partnership with Tom Stoppard’s Rock ‘n’ Roll in the Hampstead Theatre main house, there is a certain degree of expectation placed on audiences to both understand the psychological references that Spector bakes into This Much I Know, or at least allow the playwright to lead you through the snappy interlocked stories in the hope that eventually they will make sense together. There are lots of ideas here which form the basis of various, seemingly unconnected scenes including how the brain jumps to conclusions, the differences between intrinsically knowing something based on visual cues and needing to work through a problem which engages the brain differently, as well as the act of normalisation where new experiences are absorbed into a feeling of familiarity when they recur. The building point at the conclusion has been to differentiate between things that humans are actively and consciously responsible for and things that just instinctually happen. What control we have over decision making processes – at least as a recognised cognitive activity – and whether we make a choice without knowing what we are doing is the eventual purpose of This Much I Know.
Audience management is only one part of the problem here and the extent to which Spector is successful in bringing these strands together through this slightly scattered narrative is a slightly different question, drawing together four trajectories that relate through the character of Lukesh, the psychology tutor whose wife disappears randomly in pursuit of her own family past, one that in many details mirrors her life, and a final strand involving a student obsessed with H.G. Wells exploring inherited notions of white supremacy. In both of these sections, Spector looks at how beliefs and decision-making changes over time, as new knowledge starts to adjust to a new perspective. Student Harold, raised with Far Right views seeks the same patterns in Wells’s writing but discovers that his favourite author rejected his early beliefs later in life, something that Harold too starts to explore but is weighed down by conversations with his father. This pull between old and new also affects Svetlana, daughter of Stalin who was an indulgent parent back in the 1940s, but in his wake discovers the limitations of the Russian state as it starts to affect her own freedoms. This past is the one discovered by Natalya in the modern day, wife of Lukesh the psychologist who shapes the story for the audience. This connected Russian Doll quality to the drama is overly tidy but eventually demonstrates the structuring of human behaviour with which Spector is most concerned.
This Much I Know is a play that seems to continually reshape itself as the audience is given greater insight, and is interested to some degree in the nature and process of story formation within the brain, an ability to ascribe meaning and determination to activities that may be inexplicable in the moment. It can be a frustrating experience as a result trying to piece together all of the very different things that Spector wants to say, or the various true-ish stories the writer includes to draw the science and the narrative together into a specific ending for this play. Things happen and through the psychologist we hear the reason why, but then they just stop, an conclusionless conclusion that does not seek any wider meaning for character actions or the numerous narratives – at least, their purpose feels unresolved, as though the playwright too has not determined what the ending should be. The play perhaps is not something he actively decided but it just happened, an instructional piece full of research and debate but ultimately a clinical rather than an emotional exercise.
Part of that comes from the psychology lecture frame that Spector gives to the show, and in the Downstairs space at the Hampstead Theatre, it is a very intimate opener, treated like Lukesh’s class there for a semester of engaging teaching. And it does feel like teaching, these educational scenes that, through some interesting interactive techniques that get the audience thinking about their own ingrained responses, explains different kinds of bias and cognitive process. And the lecturer character uses this to unfold the tale of his missing wife as more personal examples of the theories and functions he is presenting. As these other stories unfold, some involving personal scenes between Lukesh, Natalya and Harold, Spector returns to the lecture room and has Lukesh explain it to the viewer, linking it back to the theories. It works as an exercise in show and tell, bringing together the scientific and storytelling aspects of the show but it does create a fragmentation that is never quite as coherent as it wants to be.
Lots of other techniques are employed to tell different parts of this increasingly ambitious story. As the lecture folds out into Natalya’s broader ancestry search, her relative Svetlana appears in a press conference, speaking about her life as a memoir, occasionally travelling back in time to recreate scenes from her childhood in Russia or her montage of husbands. This press conference, like Lukesh’s lecture, is cut across the performance, creating a series of chapters that the audience must pick up and put back together each time. But as her life unfolds, Spector creates sprouting parallels with the story of Natalya and Lukesh, similarly recreated for the audience, looking at how they met and the pressure points that drive their marriage. Yet, interesting though it is, the reason for its inclusion and what agency Svetlana has are less clear in the broader context of the story that Spector is telling about decision-making.
The political context of the play – both the presence of mid-century Russia in the story and the extremes of white supremacy – as a result are too loosely managed in the play and have an unclear place in the collective story that This Much I Know unfolds. There are some ideas in here about states and philosophies evolving across a lifetime, the reference to Wells is significant and later in the piece Lukesh tells another story about a Russian near miss that more directly links to the debates about gut feeling versus active problematising, but there are unanswered questions about the role of political regimes in this play that doesn’t feel fully worked out. Svetlana’s biography is presented as a puzzle for Natalya to solve – a complex father-daughter relationship, a woman defined by men that either marry or restrict her – but the nature of the totalitarian regime in which Svetlana exists and, crucially, how this fits with the functions of the brain through choice and instinct is not clear enough.
A similar problem runs through the story of Harold, another tale that Spector has incorporated into the show based on a real life event. But Harold himself is thinly drawn, there to have a purely philosophical discussion about the politics of Wells and the possibility of changing views over a lifetime but doesn’t full exist as a character in his own right. The writer largely steers clear of dialogue expressing any of the views that Harold has inherited from his parent, and the engagement with his father is complex, if rather one sided – the booming voice of the dad on telephone calls that Harold barely responds to – so while the writers opens a door for Harold to recant his beliefs, in parallel with his increased knowledge of Wells, the actual shift and the mental processes that influence it all happen off-stage. Again we get the sense that humans have the capacity for change and should not necessarily be held to a comment made years before, but it feels more like a conceptual discussions than a dramatically realised character arc.
Chelsea Walker’s production for the Hampstead Theatre imagines this play as a three-hander with actors doubling up roles and using technology to supply additional context. It is set in a mixed space designed by Blythe Brett that looks like a modern lecture room with large screen and a t-shaped desk arrangement that has a multi-functional purpose as lectern, meeting table and press desk as well as a platform for actors to walk across. But this clinical feel is offset by a traditional overhead projector showing photographs and an old-fashioned boxy television in the corner which is augmented later in the story with additional larger screens that are pulled into the production space (and left in place where they obstruct some views on the front row). This mixture of eras is largely effective in helping to shift the timelines, using the screens to convey the voices of Stalin and Harold’s father.
Esh Alladi plays Lukesh who becomes the audience’s guide to the show, interacting directly with us from the start as he addresses his new class of psychology students. There is a warmth to Alladi’s performance that is very engaging, encouraging connection to the mental exercises that are part of his slide show (and don’t require direct audience response) while clearly explaining the complex biological activities that underpin them. Broadening out this central role, Lukesh is increasingly affected by his wife’s disappearance and Alladi ensures scenes and calls with her are increasingly fraught even as her absence becomes familiar. Alladi also plays one of Svetlana’s husbands, creating enough affection between them to draw parallels with the romantic shape of Lukesh and Natalya’s relationship.
Natalie Klamr has the more difficult responsibility in the production of playing two people not really knowing the roots of their behaviour but compelled to follow a particular path. American Natalya is a vague impression of a person, the audience never discovers what she does or much about the state of her marriage, only her need to track down Svetlana’s history for an unformed book she is writing that has no specific genre. Klamar gives substance to Natalya however making good sense of someone responding to instinct without considering the consequences. Her Svetlana, requiring a Russian accent, is more a series of biographical points performed through a press conference that yields too little of the woman behind the interesting father and her relationship with her changing feelings of nationality.
Spector’s writing for Harold is full of that scholastic muscularity which you only find in American plays, the simplicity of representing university student debate but with an earnest dialogue filled with philosophical confidence. Oscar Adams gives Harold that depth, and despite what the audience soon learn about his background, allows him plenty of humanity as well, almost a naivety about the world where exposure to literature and discussion broadens his mind. It is an over-simplistic trajectory and not one that includes an uglier side to encounters Harold must have had with other students, but Adams keeps the audience onside. Playing a variety of Russian men who lead Natalya towards the truth she seeks are less distinct but the script makes them throwaway supporting roles that require little expansion.
This Much I Know is a purposefully non-realistic play, taking the audience in and out of different stories to better understand how the brain functions and how human responses develop over time. But while swiftly managed by Walker in a tightly controlled running time, why these stories, why these people and what do they tell us about political, governmental and personal relationships across the post-war era, particularly in the context of America and Russia’s charged international engagement during this time? There are lots of ideas in here that are still forming connections beyond the described mental processes that initiate them, but as an academic paper on stage there are more questions than answers at the end of the show.
This Much I Know is at Hampstead Theatre until 27 January with tickets from £10. Follow this site on Twitter @culturalcap1 or Facebook Cultural Capital Theatre Blog