Grounded at Alphabetti Theatre Review
Stock image of theatre seats.
Written by Stacy for Theatre & Tonic
Disclaimer: Gifted tickets in exchange for an honest review
In Grounded, grief is not only explored—it is embodied, externalised, and made audible in ways rarely seen on stage. Alphabetti Theatre’s latest offering, co-produced with North East-based company Albatross, is a daring and deeply affecting piece of theatre that transforms personal sorrow into collective resonance. More than a performance, Grounded feels like a vigil and a conversation—a space where silence is not emptiness, but breath held between echoes.
Set in a post-pandemic world still limping towards normality, the play weaves a dual narrative with exceptional care. Zoe Lambert brings a vulnerable strength to her portrayal of a woman grappling with bereavement, delivering a performance that is both raw and tender. Her character doesn’t collapse under the weight of loss; instead, she shifts, pauses, and hesitates in the ways people do when reality no longer follows a script.
Opposite her—though truly alongside—Christina Berriman-Dawson plays the house. Yes, the house. Not a metaphor for home, but an actual sentient presence that listens, mourns, remembers. In less capable hands, this conceit could have drifted into abstraction. Instead, Berriman-Dawson anchors it with grounded physicality and sharp comic timing, imbuing the structure with curiosity, humour, and an aching wisdom that feels entirely earned. The choice to give voice to space—to allow the walls themselves to speak of what they’ve witnessed—opens up a startling emotional territory. It’s not about haunting, but about holding.
Director Meghan Doyle handles the unconventional material with care and imagination. The pacing is deliberate without being sluggish, allowing moments to breathe without wallowing. The staging is simple but effective: light pools like memory, casting shadows that stretch longer than the scenes themselves. The sound design, crafted with rare instruments like the Yaybahaar, creates a sonic world that is intimate and haunting. Composed by Karen Underhill, Jeremy Bradfield and Wilf Stone, the original score doesn’t just accompany the drama; it is the drama, swelling and retreating like emotion itself.
What makes Grounded particularly compelling is the way it threads the personal with the political. Rooted in real experiences drawn from community workshops, the script never strays into sentimentality. Ruth Raynor’s writing is sharp, precise, and unafraid to be quiet. There are moments of levity—well-placed and well-earned—but humour never cheapens the stakes. Instead, it lights the path forward, a torch in the fog.
One of the most impressive achievements of this production is how it manages to be deeply specific while still universally accessible. You don’t need to share the characters’ exact experiences to feel seen by them. The play speaks in a language that most of us have come to understand far too well in recent years—the language of absence, memory, and trying to make sense of what remains.
Grounded isn’t just a play about grief; it’s a play about resilience, community, and the quiet, often awkward ways people keep going. It holds space for silence, but also for laughter, music, and moments of inexplicable beauty. By the time the final note fades, it leaves behind a stillness that isn’t empty, but full—with memory, with feeling, and with the soft thrum of life continuing.
This is theatre that listens as much as it speaks. Thoughtful, inventive, and emotionally resonant, Grounded deserves to travel far beyond its Newcastle home—but if you can see it here, in the intimate setting of Alphabetti, do. You may not leave with answers, but you’ll leave feeling less alone.
At Alphabetti Theatre until 24th May.
★★★★
