This is an engaging production of an extraordinarily beautiful play.
Written in 2011 by American playwright Lauren Gunderson, Silent Sky tells the story of astronomer Henrietta Swan Leavitt. Despite the patriarchal prejudices of the early 20th Century, Leavitt made paradigm-shifting discoveries in her field.
Her work was crucial in determining the distance to faraway stars and has helped us appreciate that our Milky Way is merely one galaxy among many. Thanks to her, and those who developed her insights, we’ve been offered intimations of the true majesty of the universe.
Though obviously critical of misogyny, Gunderson does not reduce Leavitt to a woman solely defined by this challenge. The play is an enchanting exploration of vital ideas, ones that offer liberation beyond the passing evil of patriarchy. For simplicity, I’ll reduce these ideas to two, what I’ll call the two ‘P’s’.
The first of these ‘P’s’ is patterns. Like all scientists, Leavitt worked on the assumption that if the universe is to be comprehensible, we must find its patterns. The trick is to find the right pattern. Or, perhaps more importantly, not to commit to the wrong pattern. (Patriarchal prejudices are a perfect example of commitment to the wrong pattern, exacerbated by the fact that this misplaced conviction is ultimately self-fulfilling. If women have not proved great scientists, any assertion that they can’t be is indubitably one of the reasons they haven’t been.) True wisdom consists in being able to see patterns, but also in being able to see more than patterns. In philosophy, it’s the perennial battle between the systemisers and the existentialists, between those who are committed to a grand theory that explains all existence and those who are constantly startled into an invigorating awareness by existence’s inexplicability.
The other ‘P’ is perspective. Leavitt’s insight that helped calculate the distance to the stars was one of perspective: Does a star appear bright because it’s close? Or does it appear close because it’s bright? I won’t spend time explaining the science with which Leavitt solved this problem – but the playwright does it with a splendid lightness of touch that leaves her tale utterly accessible to all. And the motif of perspective is threaded cleverly through the entire work. Einstein’s theory of relativity – at the time new, fresh and controversial – reminds both the characters and the audience that no perspective can be automatically privileged. Perspective is about being maturely aware that you will inevitably suffer from bias, an unavoidable consequence of seeing the world from a particular place. And Gunderson uses the gentle friction between Leavitt and her sister to highlight the concept of perspective in a slightly different way. Margaret says You would think a world war would make the stars seem trivial only to be answered with You would think the stars would make a world war seem trivial. At another moment, Leavitt asserts Life is about being appropriately upset. Perspective is not just the awareness that there are competing points of view; it’s also about keeping one’s own multifarious experiences in mature relation to each other (what is commonly referred to as keeping things in perspective.)
But I don’t want to give the impression the script is heavy – it’s not at all, it’s gloriously rich. Gunderson’s brilliance in telling this tale of magical wonder is that her touch is gentle, humorous and heart-warming, as soft as starlight.
Except for a couple of hiccups that can be put down to opening night gremlins, director Tracey Okeby Lucan’s production is captivating. The Theatre on Chester is a proscenium arch, but the limitations of this type of theatre are turned by Okeby Lucan into opportunities. The depth of the stage facilitates an appropriate sense of vastness, aided by deft lighting by Mike Brew and Milo McDermird and evocative design by Michael Arvithis and Okeby Lucan.
The cast do some great work. Angela Pezzano captures magnificently Leavitt’s determination and wonder. The scenes with her sister, played by Tida Dhanommitrapap, are sweet. As Peter, David Eisenhauer navigates the journey from nemesis to admirer and beyond with likeable humour. As Leavitt’s two colleagues, Annie and Williamina, Julie Moore and Anna Desjardins are excellent: Moore creating a gravitas inclusive of tenderness, and Desjardins a delightful, mischievous playfulness.
Paul Gilchrist
Silent Sky by Lauren Gunderson
At the Theatre on Chester until 17 May
Image by Carla Moore
Theatre Red 
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