When, in the immediate wake of the world premiere, everyone in Circa Theatre foyer is talking about the substance of the play, buzzing with the questions Anahera raises and sharing their own experiences and insights, you know this production has truly hit its mark.  

Questions are raised right from the start, before a word is spoken. Playwright Emma Kinane, director Katie Wolfe and their cast draw us in with a skill that ensures silences are as eloquent as words. For every question that’s answered, as the play progresses, more take its place, requiring each of us to interrogate our own standpoints in the very real world it represents.

Nothing is simple in the quest to be a good parent; nor in the quest to survive as a child. We may not all be parents but everyone has been a child so you’d have to be unconscious not to be gripped by Anahera. And because our perceptions, understandings and inevitable judgements change from moment to moment, I must be especially circumspect in discussing its qualities.

The publicity reveals the premise: “Liz and Peter Hunter have it all. A great marriage, successful careers, a beautiful house and two wonderful children. Until their son Harry goes missing.” The police have been alerted and a young Māori social worker, Anahera (which means Angel), has been left with the parents to await the call. The focus is on how Liz, Peter and Anahera deal with this situation and what it reveals about each of them.  

What sets this apart from other ‘missing child’ stories (there have been a number on TV in recent years) is how it uses the genre to question our socio-economic assumptions and moral values, and how it uses a forward-and-back time structure to drip-feed the distilled essence of its enquiry. Thus we also share the experiences of Harry and his sister Imogen, ten years on from the disappearance.  

Control is key to Jacqueline Nairn’s firmly articulated and ultra-confident public servant, Liz – except for the one moment when she loses it. Neill Rea’s Peter, a businessman, is more volatile because he’s less certain, so as soon as we think we have Peter’s measure he too surprises us. Both keep us guessing as to who they really are beneath their defence and coping mechanisms.

As a young social worker, unsupervised in this situation, Anahera gets to go by the proverbial book and against it, when her gut feelings say otherwise. Neenah Dekkers-Reihana embodies her utterly, as we try to work out whether she’s out of her depth or the bravest and most selfless person in the room. And Anahera, also, is fallible, as a profound moment of self-awareness reveals.

The central motif is ‘taking a stand’ and because we share Anahera’s experience of exactly that, we are able to imagine what Harry goes through too. The paradox at the heart of that comparison speaks volumes, as the play braids questions of responsibility, irresponsibility, guilt and forgiveness.

As for redemption, Kinane offers no easy resolution. Simon Leary’s Harry – a chef now? – is all-too-human in his response to what happened to easily relinquish his righteousness. It is his sister Imogen, almost invisible in the argument but now pregnant with the next generation, who has the motivation to stop the cycle of abuse (and don’t jump to a simplistic conclusion as to what is meant by ‘abuse’). Susie Berry epitomises the ‘less is more’ quality of the whole play and production in her deeply-felt Imogen.

All five actors bring such authenticity to their roles, it is easy to take their skills for granted as we are drawn into their stories. Likewise, the design elements. Mark McEntyre’s minimalistic set speaks to the clinical nature of the Hunter’s home life while suggesting their ‘security’ is an illusion. Lisa Maule’s lighting design tunes into the emotional undercurrents while transitioning us through time. The sound design, by Andrew McMillan (who I think composed the original music) and Katie Wolfe, enriches the texture even as it is used by both Peter and Harry to stop the truth getting through.

Costume designer Tania Klouwens’ beige, black and white palette for Liz, Peter and Anahera is less monotoned for Harry and Imogen, reflecting the complexes they have inherited. Then there is the sudden appearance of red on white, variously interpreted in those post-show reactions as ‘stigmata’ and ‘bleeding heart’.  

In less accomplished hands some lines and images could be a bit ‘on the nose’ but – just as she did with The Mooncake and the Kumara – director Katie Wolfe and her cast have ensured the inescapable truths inherent in Emma Kinane’s finely honed script are honoured with compelling integrity.

I’m reminded, in certain respects, of August Osage County which graced this Circa stage six years ago. My gut feeling is that Anahera could play anywhere in the English-speaking world with similar success – and I stand by that absolutely.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer