Yen by Anna Jordan at Alphabetti Theatre Review

Reviews

20 Sept

Written by Stacy for Theatre & Tonic

Disclaimer: Gifted tickets in exchange for an honest review

Contains strong language, depictions of violence and aggression, themes of neglect and abuse
sexual content and intimacy, references to alcoholism and substances, references to animal cruelty (not physically shown) and themes of mental health struggles and self-harm implications.

Last night I witnessed Yen by Anna Jordan at Alphabetti, and to be honest, I’m still reeling from it. It’s one of those rare productions that doesn’t just stay in the room - it lingers...burying its way under your skin and following you home.

To set the scene, the play centres on Hench, who is sixteen, and Bobbie, thirteen - two brothers left to fend for themselves with only a flickering sense of parental guidance and their dog, Taliban, for company. Their mother, Maggie, drifts in and out of their lives, and when Jennifer appears, her presence sparks a collision of fragile hope and devastating reality. What unfolds is both brutal and tender, with a narrative that pulls no punches in its exploration of neglect, survival, and longing for something better.

The performances here are nothing short of astonishing in their honesty. Adam Owers, as Hench, carried the weight of the world on his shoulders...every silence, every glance, felt charged with unspoken emotion. Jonny Grogan’s Bobbie was purely devastating - childlike and feral, capable of making us laugh one moment and breaking our hearts the next. Lucy Eve Mann brought a grounded yet innocent compassion to Jennifer, offering tenderness without slipping into sentimentality, while Vicky Binns as Maggie was painfully human, flawed, frustrating, and yet undoubtedly recognisable.

What made this piece all the more powerful was the intimacy of Alphabetti’s space. The actors were within arm’s reach and that closeness made the experience feel almost intrusive, as though I had stumbled into someone else’s private pain. During the most intimate scenes - particularly between Hench and Jenny - the entire audience seemed to collectively hold its breath. Not a single beat was dropped...every moment was played with precision intent.

Connor Goodwin’s direction also deserves a special mention here too. The way he embraced the rawness of Jordan’s text while wholeheartedly trusting his cast to live truthfully in every moment was remarkable to say the least. Nothing on stage felt forced or theatricalised for effect. Instead, the action unfolded with a natural flow that drew us deeper into the world of the brothers. The use of the space was particularly striking...moments of stillness carried just as much weight as the bursts of violence throughout, and the shifts in physical proximity between characters revealed as much as the dialogue, if not more. It was a masterclass in restraint and precision, which allowed the audience to feel both complicit and exposed.

This play is not an easy watch by any means and the list of trigger warnings is extensive. The language is raw, the violence difficult, and the themes unflinching. But that discomfort feels necessary, and in many ways, it’s the point. By refusing to make the audience comfortable, this play fully demands that we bear witness to lives that are often unseen.

By the final beat, I was left feeling raw and shaken, but also deeply moved. Yen does not offer neat catharsis, but it does offer recognition of what happens when children are left to raise themselves and of the fragile moments of kindness that can still exist even in the darkest of corners.

This production at Alphabetti is superbly acted, sharply directed and utterly unforgettable. It’s theatre at its most vital - urgent, intimate and impossible to ignore. I left changed. And isn’t that exactly what theatre should do?