“Space: the final frontier…”
So spoke William Shatner, anyway, at the beginning of every episode of the original Star Trek series. I’ve always found that phrasing interesting – the word “frontier” is associated mostly with the American pioneers, steadily moving west through vast tracts of land that they saw as theirs, regardless of who might happen to be there already. Star Trek, and indeed most sci-fi, frames humanity’s gradual expansion outwards as inevitable and unstoppable – or, at least, noble. And yet the language used here evokes colonisation, the displacement and destruction of communities, nations, whole species.
Benedict Zephyr, the writer of UMDS’s Juturna, seems to agree with me. Directed by Zephyr and assistant directed by Neeyati Singh, the play tells the story of Scouting Team Aeolus, a group of four human astronauts on a spaceship in a hitherto unexplored section of the universe. On board are the upbeat and passionate Lola (Mai Gabra), her on-off spaceship-situationship and the Aeolus’s meek scientist Jamie (Joe White), the stern but clear-headed vice captain Shirley (Jiyun Seong), and the arrogant and commandeering captain Randall (Lucas Yates).
The play’s first half is centred around these four “discovering” a new planet at the universe’s farthest edge: Juturna, a mostly barren and seemingly unpopulated wasteland that is nonetheless habitable for humans. The crew is split on the issue of whether or not to drop to the planet’s surface and begin the process of turning it into a new human colony, with Randall in particular pushing the planet as an incredible opportunity for the human race – and for him specifically – while the rest are more divided on the idea, with the other characters coming to doubt the apparent necessity of their mission.
Throughout the play’s first half, the crew receive strange, incomprehensible distress calls that are characteristically ignored by Randall. But around halfway through, they locate the calls’ source – an abandoned ship floating nearby the planet – and embark on a mission to rescue anyone on board. What they find is a completely eviscerated crew, with the exception of the sole survivor, Melanie (Niamh Phipps-Brown), herself nearly dead and with the demeanour and mannerisms of a reanimated corpse.
Melanie is taken aboard Aeolus and locked in a cell, and from there the play shifts its focus to her conversations with the rest of the cast. The implication is that Melanie’s body has taken over by some form of entity originating from the planet below, though this is left deliberately ambiguous – the reason for Melanie’s behaviour and the deaths of her crewmates are never outright stated.
Above all, Juturna is a play about colonialism and industrialisation, the seemingly insatiable need for humanity to keep moving forward, keep expanding, keep subjugating – with very little regard for anything or anyone that might be in the way. It is eventually revealed that Juturna is actually the very last undiscovered planet in the universe, the final place where humans have yet to tread. Randall represents humanity as a whole in this way, desperate to “end” the journey and driven not so much by rational concerns for the future of the species, but more by his own crippling insecurities.
The play also frames itself through a feminist lens, Randall of course being the more outwardly controlling and verbally abusive of his female subordinates and acting as a slimy, self-appointed “father figure” to Lola, but Jamie too is unwilling to allow Lola to make her own decisions about whether to return to Earth with him or stay on board Aeolus as Randall’s vice captain. It’s not a coincidence that Melanie, the representative of Juturna intent on protecting her homeland from the march of colonisation, is female.
The performers are well-cast and each takes to their respective role with grace and poise. Mai Gabra as Lola offers a subtle but nuanced take on the character, balancing out some of the bigger personalities of the cast while still selling her character’s arc of beginning to make her own choices, regardless of whether they are necessarily the right choices. Joe White is very good as her hapless boyfriend-turned-ex Jamie, likeable in his awkwardness but equally believable in his inaction.
Randall is captured well by Lucas Yates, whose rich delivery of lines and authoritative gesture and presence belies the character’s insecurities and need for validation. Niamh Phipps-Brown is given the least to do, appearing only halfway through the play and remaining catatonic for much of it, but the occasions where she is allowed to intimidate the ship’s crew are where the play’s cosmic horror comes to the fore, with her stilted line deliveries and raspy voice exemplifying the threat posed by Melanie. The standout however is Jiyun Seong, who plays both Shirley’s aged world-weariness and more hidden childlike awe at the scale of the universe perfectly.
Designer Connie Morris uses flats painted white and decorated to resemble a spaceship’s interior – it is a homely but barren set, with the ship’s bridge, Jamie’s room, and Randall’s room each being given their own section of the stage. Some details are picked out in sharp focus, like the gramophone in Randall’s room that receives the distress calls, which combined with the minimalism of the rest of the set makes the whole thing feel ethereal and half-remembered.
The John Thaw is transformed into a starfield with individual pinpricks of light projected onto the walls and audience, while sound designer George Linford creates an incredibly impressive, sweeping score that plays throughout almost the whole show. The music is moody and atmospheric, underlining both the horror and the wonder at the play’s centre.
Juturna is a something of a slow burn, with a runtime of around two hours and not much in the way of action or plot progression until the second act. But it earns its more relaxed pace, giving the characters the time they need to endear themselves to the audience (or not, in Randall’s case), as well as establishing their motivations and lives before upending them with Melanie’s introduction.
It’s a thoughtful, quiet play, with a lot to say about the human psyche and how it leads to the exploitation of places and populations, and it is also cold and deeply lonely. The play’s end almost feels like the end of humanity of itself, and its blend of atmospheric cosmic horror and melancholy kitchen sink drama will stay with you for a long time after watching it – maybe even until the end of the universe.
