Let’s start with the positives. The performances in Al Miller’s revival of Lyle Kessler’s 1983 play Orphans are absolutely tremendous. Fred Woodley Evans completely inhabits the childlike Phillip; his hands tremble as he addresses his older, more violent and streetwise brother, Treat, and he gazes with wide-eyed wonder out of the window of the little row house they inhabit in North Philadelphia. Treat (Chris Walley), too, is sharply drawn as spiky and hostile, often clutching a small penknife to heighten his menace. The trio is completed by Forbes Masson as Harold, the elusive businessman whom Treat kidnaps in the hope of an easy robbery, only to discover someone far more unsettling; his performance is suitably dark, jittery and inscrutable.
And yet, despite the talent on show here, it feels as though there are plenty of plays far more worthy of revival in 2026. The two brothers live alone and parentless, though their mother’s coats and shoes still decorate the space like relics. While Treat ventures out to make ends meet through theft and intimidation in the neighbourhood, Phillip is ordered to stay inside, dressed in pyjamas like a child, secretly reading and watching television. In form, it could best be described as a poor man’s Pinter or Shepard.
The play leaves us with more questions than answers. What happened to Phillip and Treat’s parents? Who, exactly, is Harold — a gangster or a man who deals in stocks and bonds? And how does he manage to convince these two grown-up orphans to work for him at all? (Quite conveniently, there’s a time jump, so we never actually find out what happened.) Then, miraculously, Harold — himself also an orphan — emerges as an almost father figure to the boys after the interval. Although the script reaches for comedy and attempts to become a parable about fathers and sons, the narrative lacks plausibility.
Still, Miller has a good go at giving the whole thing more meaning. His skill as a director shines brightest when the stage is left empty, without the actors. In between scenes, light from the outside world spills through the window like a glimmer of the vivid life beyond the brothers’ four walls. When Harold eventually convinces Phillip to brave a walk outside, the lights are left flickering, with the TV humming on in the background. Before we physically see the actors, they first appear as ominous shadows through the window.
These are some of the strengths of Sarah Beaton’s design, which succeeds in making the brothers’ lives seem lonely, claustrophobic and small. But their house is slightly too ordered for us to believe these men have no real skills as adults. Kessler’s play is certainly a springboard for actors, but for audiences, it sags and slumps.
