Amewudah-Rivers, 26, is a huge find, by turns understated, coy, comically off-hand, and defiantly passionate. But eyes rivet, inevitably, to Holland – beefy of bicep, but pale, achingly tender, at times teary and then cheery, all hormonal vulnerability. Together, they help subvert expectations that because this is about young, doomed love, the evening must be giddy and hectic.
No, Lloyd – who is generally of the “less is more” school – doesn’t just strip things back scenery and props-wise, removing tangible weaponry, but slows things down, placing the lyrical language centre-stage. Mics on stands, and taped to faces, capture every utterance, sometimes imparted in an intimate whisper, sometimes flung out like a spoken-word torrent. Movement can dip to a taut, controlled minimum, with the cast often intoning their lines without direct interaction. The “two hours traffic” is more like a slo-mo succession of tableaux; live-captured video, relayed on a screen, adds to the curious, meditative effect. Violence isn’t shown directly; instead, we see the bloody aftermath following black-outs, creating a sense of brutal upset.