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Notes: Anyone who hasn't read this book should absolutely go read it because it's amazing. They should also be warned it depicts every trigger in the book and is also just relentlessly sad for a lot of it. But it's also a beautiful, thoughtful piece about friendship, love, and what it means to live through abuse.
Though I don't depict any of the more traumatic aspects in this fic, some of these characters are still dealing with the aftereffects, and there's small, very small pieces of that in here. So just be warned before reading.
I want to be able to give Jude some happy moments, so this is that.
Summary: Jude doesn't like to be touched. But he can't stop thinking about tickling. He doesn't know what to do with this.
“Get your hands off of me!”
“Only if you ask nicely~”
“God, you’re such an asshole—JB!”
“Geez, Malcom, you want to wake the whole neighborhood, do you?”
This was in response to a shriek that had torn through the apartment, raising alarm bells in the form of goosebumps prickling along Jude’s skin. He was working on a roasted duck for Harold, who was meant to be coming over that night with Julia. Harold had insisted he was going to cook this time, but it had been a bad day, one that required busy hands and a distracted mind—to Harold, he merely said he wanted to be spared his experiments that night, a comment that was taken with much scoffing and huffing. Now, his hands froze over the meat he was carving at the sudden sound from the living room.
He stepped away to go investigate, preparing for a fight or worse, and halted when the shriek morphed into fits of laughter, albeit desperate and pitchy ones. That didn’t sound like a fight.
When he came to the doorway, he saw why. Malcom was pressed back into the couch, JB hovering over him, his hands darting out quickly towards Malcom’s person, whose face in return was crumpled into a weak grin, his hands struggling to catch JB’s. Jude’s eyes glanced around the room, landing on Willem who sat opposite them in one of their lounge chairs. His demeanor was calm and there was an amused smile on his face. Jude felt himself relaxing, slightly.
“What’s going on?” he asked cautiously, even as the scene was becoming obvious to him.
JB was tickling him. Of course. The little jabs towards his person were fingers reaching out and squeezing and poking all over Malcom’s torso. And, from the looks of it, doing so very effectively. Malcom was flushing all over, but he didn’t seem to be fighting back nearly as hard as he could have been, despite all his squirming.
“Malcom here made a comment that does not bear repeating,” JB said calmly.
“I said you’re a narcissistic piece of shit who can’t handle any criticism—fuhuhuhuck! N-Not there, mahahan!”
JB had shoved two hands under his arms, wiggling his fingers mercilessly. “See? Doesn’t bear repeating.”
Jude watched them for a few moments longer, his stomach twinging and curling with a familiar anxiety. Tickling wasn’t something he had much experience with, a fact that had never bothered him in the slightest. He was fairly certain he would dislike it. Yet, as Malcom and JB continued to wrestle and bicker on the couch, he felt a tug of something that was dissimilar to the disgust or discomfort he might have expected. He was… curious. Maybe it was how jovial they were, how friendly; he had always been jealous of the easy way they all touched each other, a part of him longing for it even as he did everything in his power to avoid it. Maybe it was the smile on Malcom’s face, the soft giggles that were different, freer and more chaotic than his usual laughter. Maybe it was the way Malcom wasn’t really fighting back, allowing himself to be caught by the tickling hands again and again whenever he managed to get the upper hand for a brief moment.
Envy. That was the squirming monster in his gut, the thing that writhed and hissed at the display. He blinked to realize it.
After a moment, he noticed Willem glancing over at him, his head tilted slightly. Jude flushed, embarrassed to have been caught in his recollection, though of course Willem would have no way of deducing what he was really thinking about. He swiftly turned around, abandoning the trio to return to his cooking.
“Try not to kill him,” he called back at them, going for wry, though it sounded strangled even to his own mind.
JB’s enthusiastic response was prompt. “No promises.”
Throughout the years together, their friendship morphed and twisted and fizzled at times, though it always eventually resumed its form in some fashion or another. And through all that, there was the tickling. As they grew older, it didn’t happen nearly as often as it did in those early years, when they were freshly on Lispenard Street and the world seemed expansive and dramatic, built for only the four of them. Back then, these tickle fights occurred often and furiously, usually between Malcom and JB and usually with JB as the instigator-turned-eventual-victim. Every once in a while, Willem would be brought into the fray. Sometimes a quick poke to JB’s side to get him to quiet, or a clawing of his knee when they were sitting on the couch and JB was having a very JB-ish rant. Sometimes JB would get revenge, and Jude would get the pleasure of hearing Willem’s laughter. It was one of his favorite sounds, though at the time he could hardly have guessed how dear to him it would become. Back then he was just happy to be around his friends, though he couldn’t help but stare, observing Willem’s gasps and snorts that were so unique to this particular form of play. It was strange how it didn’t occur anywhere else, no matter how funny the joke or hilarious the anecdote. Jude had quickly become obsessed with it, though it was a quiet, secret obsession.
Sometimes Malcom would tickle Willem, and these moments were softer, gentler, and Willem didn’t fight to get revenge like he did with JB. Jude was able to relax more whenever this occurred. JB had a chaotic energy about him that sometimes set Jude on edge, worried he might get pulled into the fray. But with Malcom, the tickling was so light and caring that it was clear this was tickling meant only for Willem and no one else. It filled Jude with envy and relief. Still, it was a much more comfortable setting, and he loved how Willem giggled—giggled, the very sound so un-Willem like that he could hardly stand it—and twisted in his seat, always forcing himself to settle back down so Malcom could continue. Oh, they teased each other, of course. But everything in their stance read happy and content, so Jude never felt any need to intervene on his behalf.
As they grew older, the tickling between each other died down, though now there were girlfriends and boyfriends whose hands couldn’t stay to themselves. And there were Harold and Julia who were as lovey with one another as when they first got together and so Jude would often walk in on them giggling and tussling together on the couch like two children.
Ever since he first started noticing it, he couldn’t stop noticing it. It would have been easier if he could have known what it was a desire for. He didn’t want the tickling to happen to him—at least so he thought. Sometimes at appointments with Andy, his fingers would be too light when examining his legs, and Jude would flinch and Andy would pull away as though burned with a quick, embarrassed apology. Sometimes Jude thought about telling him that it was because he was ticklish. Would he react? Would he do something about it, perhaps playfully inquire further? That’s how it seemed to go with other people. But ultimately he never did, as the relief when the ticklish sensation stopped was strong enough to deter him.
So then what was this fascination?
It was years later the first time he tried to explore it. He was with Willem now, a reality that was in and of itself an anomaly every day. Willem who was so sweet and caring. Willem who was so patient despite everything. Willem who, for some inexplicable reason, loved him.
And he felt comfortable around him. It had taken a while, sure, but as time progressed, he felt himself relaxing more around the other man. There were still the hyenas, lurking in the dark, and the nights where he slunk away to give into his more self-destructive desires. But then he wasn’t sure if that would ever go away with anyone. Willem was comfortable enough. And once he realized it, he began to feel that itch again. He’d noticed it in one of Willem’s films. It was a brief scene between him and some fictional paramour who was wrestling him in bed one early morning, a scene that quickly grew tickly and affectionate. Normally, Jude skipped any intimate scenes Willem was involved in. He was fine with him doing it, but the details he could do without. But now, he paused, watching Willem’s face break open into laughter.
Tickling. This was a thing between lovers. Especially when it came to adults, it seemed. Perhaps that was the missing link. Sure, he had never thought he wanted this before, but maybe with Willem, maybe then it would be okay. Maybe that was what his brain had latched onto.
He wasn’t sure how to approach the issue, so he waited many weeks until one night in bed, while Willem was playing with his hair, one of the few forms of touch Jude always readily accepted, he blurted it out.
“Do you ever think about tickling me?”
He heard the distinct sound of Willem choking on his own spit, his fingers pausing in his hair. Jude didn’t dare look back, though he could feel Willem’s gaze on him. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Tickling. I just noticed it’s a thing people do in relationships. A form of affection, I guess.” There was a beat of silence. “I’m asking honestly here. You don’t need to lie if you do.”
For a moment, he wasn’t sure if Willem was going to respond. And then: “Not really? I guess? I mean, it always seemed pretty clear when we were younger that you didn’t want anything to do with it. And I know you’re more okay with you and I touching, but tickling… well, I don’t know. I guess it feels sort of invasive—uncontrollable. So, I never thought it would be something you’d want. Here and there, there might have been moments where I thought about it, but just in passing. Why?”
Now it was Jude’s turn to fall quiet. He stared at the wall, which looked ominous and blank in the darkness of their room. He forced himself not to fiddle with the sheets, not wanting to seem as nervous as he looked.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and startled, only a little, but enough for the touch to retreat. “Jude… do you want to be tickled? It’s alright if you do. Touch doesn’t work all the same. You can want certain things and not want others, I won’t judge you for it.”
Do you want to be tickled? That was the question indeed. Jude finally turned back. Willem was staring at him, his eyes alight with a gentle caring, though Jude could see through to the curiosity underneath that he was failing to hide. Ultimately it was that that decided it for him. He hadn’t expected Willem to want to do it, really. The thought filled him with equal parts excitement and trepidation. Perhaps he was finally going to crack this mystery that had bothered him for so long.
He nodded slowly. “I think… I want to try. I don’t know if I’ll like it. But I’ve been wondering about it and grown curious, I suppose.”
They turned to face each other, both in their PJs, though Willem had forgone his shirt, leaving his torso bare and beautiful. Willem held up his hands with his fingers half curled, so that it looked like he was trying to calm him down. There was something amusing about the hesitant stance. “Okay. Where would you like me to do it? And for how long? I don’t want to overload you.”
These were things Jude had not considered, but he found himself suddenly self-conscious about the notion that his body might have to be exposed for this. There weren’t many places that were safe. “My sides. Just there. And over the shirt, please.” Willem was giving him an odd look. “What?”
“I kind of need you to raise your hands if I’m going to get any access. You’re clenched up, a bit.”
Jude flushed, nodding jerkily and carefully pulling his arms overhead so that the tips of his fingers rested against the back of his skull. It was a very vulnerable position to stay in, and he forced himself to breathe evenly, reminding himself that this was Willem and Willem was different. “Go ahead.”
At first, Willem merely placed his hands against his sides. But then his fingers began to move. And Jude inhaled sharply at the foreign sensations, his arms twitching already. It was like electricity and panic all at once, both firing off in his nervous system so strongly that he struggled not to push Willem off immediately. It was only a momentary shock, though, and after he was able to gather his sense, he came to the conclusion that it was not terribly ticklish, at least not in that spot. It definitely tickled, but not as much as he’d remembered from when he was very little. It was almost pleasant at times, or sometimes itchy. Then again, Willem was being fairly gentle.
Willem glanced up at him, looking surprisingly unsure of himself, though he couldn’t have said what Willem had to be nervous about. “How is it?”
Jude frowned. “I don’t know. I think I’m supposed to be laughing right now. But I don’t really feel like laughing.”
“Maybe you’re just not that ticklish there.”
“Could you try a little harder?”
Willem complied and Jude gasped, arching back. There was the sensation he remembered. And loads of it. A half-formed giggle slid out and his arms came crashing down as he pushed Willem forcibly off.
“Sorry,” the other said quickly, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” Jude said, a little tiredly. He was still rubbing his sides, the sensation lingering like a sour taste at the back of his mouth. “It wasn’t as fun as it seems to be for all of you.” His tone was bitter and he forced his face to remain neutral and not disappointed. It does feel invasive, he thought privately, echoing Willem’s earlier concerns. And vulnerable. And helpless.
“I didn’t think it would be. I would have been surprised if—well, never mind. It’s fine. I’m okay not having tickling in our relationship.”
But Jude kept frowning, staring down into his lap.
“Jude?”
“I thought it was that I wanted it for myself. Whenever I would see you, all of you, tickling and playing around, I thought maybe I wanted to join in. But I definitely don’t like it. I don’t know why it’s still pulling at me.”
Willem thought for a moment, his hand absently coming over to play with Jude’s hair once more. The other man hummed, not realizing how tense he’d been till he started relaxing again. “Maybe,” Willem said slowly, glancing up at him hesitantly. “Maybe you want to do the tickling.”
Jude’s eyes snapped open. “Willem, no.”
“What?”
“That’s hardly fair. How can I ask you to subject yourself to something that I’m not willing for you to do to me. It’s not right and it’s certainly not expected of you, especially—” he broke off what he was going to say next: especially because I can’t give you what you want—sex.
Scoffing, Willem took hold of his hands, lifting them very carefully up to his own sides, giving Jude all the time in the world to pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t. “First of all, there are many things you do to me that I don’t do to you, and many things I do to you that you don’t do to me. Relationships aren’t strict transactions—at least not the fun ones, anyway, or the healthy ones. It’s about understanding what the other person wants and especially what they don’t want. But second of all… I don’t actually mind the tickling.”
Jude stared at him. This was certainly new information, though it was a theory he had suspected on and off through the years. “You don’t?”
Willem shook his head shyly. “Not exactly. Sure, I mean, sometimes it can be too much, and it has to be only with the right people. I wouldn’t like just anyone tickling me. But you, Jude…” He smiled, flushing suddenly and brightly all the way to the crest of his forehead; it was unbearably endearing. “I think I would love if you were to tickle me.”
There was an emotion building in Jude’s chest that squeezed tightly around his core and made it difficult to breathe for a moment. He had never felt so simultaneously selfish and guilty all at once, not since Willem had first asked to be with him. How was it possible his life could ever become this perfect?
Not entirely perfect, his mind taunted, but he ignored this for now. That was a problem for another time.
“Okay,” Jude said slowly. “If you’re okay with it. And you’ll let me know when you want me to stop?”
“I promise.”
Willem lay down on the bed, pulling his arms up over his head in what was clearly meant to be a casual gesture, but was anything but. His torso was still bare, a fact they were now much more aware of.
“You seem tense.”
“I’m just very ticklish.”
“I know.” And now it was Jude’s turn to blush. There was technically nothing strange about it. He had grown up around Willem, of course he had noticed. But it still felt like a confession of sorts. Pushing past the awkward moment, he continued, “Where would you like me to…?”
Willem shrugged. He was already smiling, a shy thing that crept slowly up his face. “Anywhere you want. I think it’s pretty effective in most areas.”
Watching him the whole time to make sure this was still okay, Jude lowered his hands down to Willem’s stomach. The skin jumped under even that simple touch, and Jude shot a look up to Willem. He was still smiling. Carefully, Jude began to move his fingers. The gesture was foreign to him. He had seen this done many times, but he only had memories to go off of for what it was meant to look like. He didn’t know what it felt like to tickle someone. So, the movements were jerky and stiff, like stage directions he was following out.
But it didn’t matter. Willem had been right about being very ticklish. His smile had cracked out of its usual, perfect form, his teeth hooking around his lower lip to prevent the laughter that was already building. His toes curled, his hands clenched into fists, and his stomach tightened, a beautiful, brilliant flush spread across his face.
“It seems to be effective,” Jude commented and Willem chuckled, the sound breaking the dam and allowing more laughter to escape, impossible to reign back in.
“I-it is,” he agreed, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. “God, Jude, this is so gentle—”
Jude halted. “Is that bad?”
“No, no, it just really tickles. Like, surprisingly tickles. Most people aren’t this gentle—fuck!”
Willem was properly giggling now, hiding his face in his arms. Jude watched his own hands move. He was being very light, he supposed. His fingers danced over his stomach like birds, dancing and twittering about on the front porch. Now, he kept it up on purpose, if only because it made Willem whine, a sound he had never heard before and longed to keep hearing.
Willem’s body was coiled like a spring, and he could tell he was ready to leap forward and push his hands off, but he wasn’t. Jude kept having to ask if this was okay as a result, which meant Willem kept having to yes it was which appeared to be such a flustering ordeal that Jude occasionally asked just to see the expression on his face.
Remembering something Malcom had done once, Jude clawed his hands against his hips and slowly crawled them up under his arms. Willem arched back, gasping and snorting as he flailed for a grip on the headboard.
“Juhuhude!”
“Tickle?”
“E-Extrehehemely!’
Jude smiled, flushed all over with pleasure at the sight of the man he loved, in his bed, laughing—and how he loved his laugh, the sound like the breeze from an open window on a spring day or the scent of freshly baked bread from the bakery Willem had discovered downtown. And Jude, of all people, was the cause of it. He wanted to stay here forever, laughing and tickling until one couldn’t tell hands from skin and Willem from Jude.
Eventually, though, an end had to come about as Willem truly was much more ticklish than he remembered. When he experimented with fluttering fingers over his thighs, a spot that had always made Willem strangely twitchy back in the days when they would make love, Willem burst into cackles, launching forward and scrambling for Jude’s hands. Jude snatched them back quickly, folding them safely into his own lap. His heart raced from the sudden movement, but Willem wasn’t angry. Desperate was a better word for it.
“Sorry,” he apologized, turning to Jude with a weak smile. “That’s uh, a very ticklish spot. I hadn’t expected it to feel so intense. We may have to work up to that.”
Jude shook his head, the words work up to that revolving in his mind, reminding him that there would be other times. “It’s alright. I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.”
“Yeah, well.” Willem scratched his cheek, averting his gaze. “I was having fun, y’know?”
They both looked at each other and away, overcome by a strange shyness at the intimate moment.
Several minutes later, pressed close together in bed with Willem’s arms wrapped so tightly around Jude he could blessedly barely think, Jude mumbled, “So the tickling… you would be okay with me doing that again?”
Willem pressed his face into his head, the kiss long and tender so that Jude’s bones seemed to melt within his body. “I would be more than okay with it, if it was something you wanted. Just maybe not in front of others. I don’t think I could handle Harold or Richard discovering how embarrassingly ticklish I am.”
They both laughed at that, and Jude snuggled in closer, inhaling the scent of Willem and falling into one of the first peaceful sleeps he’d had in many months.
ik only a very niche group of people will get this but whenever i watch dead poets in nyc i think of a little life and how they acted the exact same way to being trapped on a roof. the parallels go crazy
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JB describes his friends with colours, Jude as silver, Malcom as blue and Willem as Gold. Gold is said to be a colour of compassion and generosity, blue is serene and stable while silver is successful yet sensitive. It portrays Jude as the moon (Jude’s smile is compared to the moon, he is also the light amongst the darkness shrouding his life) and Willem as the sun, constantly apart but always moving and working as one. Malcom is the one person in their lives who holds a level of stability.
Willem also earns a role as Odysseus, a man of endurance, intelligence and has a sway with his words. He is the eponymous hero, but has hubris. He is too prideful, such as Willem is in believing that his own satisfaction and confidence can extend to Jude when it cannot. The ending of the Odyssey suggest that while romantic love is important, it does not override the love held between a father and son - this being the relationship between Jude and Luke, as for a while, Jude saw him as a paternal figure. It may also be for Harold and Jude, but no real significance can be found there.
Finally, their names. Jude’s name means “praised,” which I feel is self-explanatory. His adulthood is showered with praise, others constantly writing paths they believe he can follow. Praising his work ethic, his money, his love life etc. His name itself praises him for surviving so long with such a horrid past. Willem’s name means “resolute protector,” again self-explanatory but still, he watches over Jude. He is the only one who can make Jude feel completely, and absolutely safe and secure in his presence. Malcom and JB (Jean-baptise) both have names with religious significance. Perhaps this could be meaningless, or they’re named after figures but may also allude to the constant Christian presence in Jude’s life.
For anyone who does wish to attend this production, please don’t take the content warnings lightly - the self-harm is graphic and two characters have full-frontal nudity.
I (Freddie) attended the matinee production at the Harold Pinter Theatre in London on Sunday 7th May
THIS REVIEW/ANALYSIS DOES CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR BOTH THE NOVEL AND STAGE PRODUCTION, SO PLEASE BE AWARE!
Trigger Warnings: talks of self harm, child abuse, sexual assault, domestic abuse and more
There’s no discernible reaction from the audience when Luke Thompson as Willem makes his entrance onto the stage. He’s wearing a dark blue hoodie, the hood pulled up over his hair - perfectly innocuous, nothing spectacular or grand as he walks about the stage. The lights are still bright, the audience is still chatting, laughter is filling the room. And Luke Thompson as Willem is onstage frying himself some bacon and eggs.
What has struck me again and again whenever I reread A Little Life - because, yes, I get a masochistic kind of joy from putting myself through that pain repeatedly - is the intimacy of it. Naturally with any book, the reader is granted the chance to feel close to the characters, to garner a look at their lives behind the veil. But if you were to ask me, I would say that there are very few - if any - novels that create this illusion as Hanya Yanagihara’s does. For 813 pages you are allowed to experience this life as they are, to experience snapshots of their lives - the good, the bad and the unimaginably horrifying - even as the rest of New York, the rest of the world, goes on as normal, with no thought spared to what is occurring within the walls of Lispenard Street and their subsequent homes.
The awareness that despite what Jude is revealing to the readers about his past, the beyond nightmarish history he has, the world is continuing to go on as normal was perhaps the aspect of the novel I adore so much that I was most scared about losing in adapting it for other mediums.
But from the moment Luke Thompson stepped onto stage, transformed into Willem and beginning to go about his daily life, with the moving images of New York streets surrounding him in his apartment, I knew that my worries had been unfounded. Ivo Van Hove with his unbelievable direction paired with Jan Versweyveld’s set design had found a way to maintain that understanding.
Throughout almost all of the performance, there is no moment of stasis. Be it JB and Malcom painting and working at desks on the right side of the stage, or Andy reading his book in his clinic, or the ever-present Willem and Harold.
The former is always in the same spot on a sofa at the back of the stage, flipping through scripts, determined to make it big as an actor, pouring all of his attention and focus onto learning the lines, dedicated to making his dream a reality, and yet always there ready to support Jude. In the second act, Luke Thompson takes the exact same pose when listening to Jude revealing the details of his childhood, desperate to understand his best friend, and at this stage his lover, in the same way he had been desperate to make it as an actor.
Harold, however, spends much of his time on stage left, stationed at the kitchen set up. Constantly in movement, cooking several dishes throughout the course of the play. A reference, perhaps, to the number of Thanksgivings Jude is reported to have spent with him and his wife, Julia (absent from this adaptation).
Despite the eternal loneliness that James Norton as Jude exudes with just his presence, he is only truly alone for a few moments - the harrowing whisper of “x equals x” that he gasps out after Elliot Cowan as Caleb leaves him naked in the street. It is then that he is alone onstage, laying in his blood, until he is retrieved by his loved ones and taken to rest on Andy’s hospital bed.
It is this detail of James Norton’s performance as Jude that I found the most powerful - which is saying something, considering that I am considering suing him for emotional damages, hasn’t anyone ever told him to think about using his acting powers for good, rather than evil? He captures a side of Jude that I had not previously considered - Jude views himself as a side character in his own life. He doesn’t feel worthy of attention, of his friendships, he is lonely in spite of being surrounded by those he loves the most and as a result feels unable to call out and ask for the help he desperately craves but does not believe that he deserves.
The contrast between this and the fact that Jude is always centre stage is immense and almost disconcerting to watch and caused me to spend the entire performance practically begging him in my head to just turn around, they’re right there!
But this desire to be helped and to be heard is brought to life by the presence of Nathalie Armin as Ana. The first person in Jude’s life to truly care about him, and the only female in this adaptation of the novel. Armin has a commanding presence on the stage, even as she is a mere figment of Jude’s imagination. Dressed in all black, a stark difference to the bright set, allowing her to melt into the darkness when the spotlight focuses on Norton.
In many ways, Ana vocalises the audience’s own thoughts - pleading with Jude to confide in his friends, desperate to stop him from harming himself further, and the relief in Armin’s expression as Jude finally tells Willem his story.
The choice to keep the cast small causes a heavy weight to be put on Elliot Cowan’s shoulders, as he is tasked with portraying three different, truly heinous characters. Even without the costume changes, however, I truly believe it would be possible to tell which of the three he was in each scene.
Cowan gives truly fantastic portrayals of each of the villains of Jude’s life, as Brother Luke he shows the softer touch which allowed for him to manipulate Jude in his innocence, he never handles Norton roughly when playing the part of Brother Luke. Carefully pulling him along, coaxing Jude to trust him to the point that the child does not realise just how wrong it is what Brother Luke asks of him.
This acting from Cowan makes Jude’s words all the more heartbreaking in Act 2 when talking to Willem, as the audience is able to see why Jude insists that Brother Luke was different, that he did love him.
When taking up the role of Caleb, however, he becomes the manifestation of everything Jude believes about himself. He has none of Brother Luke’s gentleness, but all of his intensity and possessiveness. The last that we see of Caleb, is when he lifts Jude up by the arm, Norton’s body used to reflect the words he says - “x equals x”. Being with Caleb has brought to life Jude’s darkest thoughts of himself, and Jude views this as proof that no matter what he will always be the same. Damaged and unlovable, to be blamed for everything he had been subjected to in his youth.
As Dr Traylor, Cowan’s words are clipped and straightforward. He is the most detached of Jude’s abusers, not caring for his name and only referring to him as “a prostitute” and reinforcing what Jude already believes about himself. It is not until Jude’s “release” that we see any true kind of emotion from Dr Traylor. Cowan shows Dr Traylor with a manic kind of joy upon forcing Jude to run from him, all the while on the tail in his car. The chase scene is long, and dramatic with the incredible musicians rising in volume and intensity with their instruments. The length of the scene forces thoughts back to Jude’s earlier response when JB asked about his legs - “I used to run cross country”.
In all of his roles, Cowan has the same commanding presence onstage as Armin. The moment he leaves the wings, regardless of who he is in that moment, the audience’s attention is drawn to him. As though by sheer glares and willpower we will be able to change Jude’s story, that we as mere observers will be able to push against Cowan’s slow, purposeful steps and keep him away from Norton.
Zubin Varla and Emilio Doorgasingh gave masterful portrayals as Harold and Andy, respectively. They are markedly different to the presence of Willem, Malcom and JB - in what proves to be a very physical play, Harold rarely touches his son, while Andy only does so as necessary in his medical examinations of Jude.
This respect for Jude’s boundaries when it comes to physical contact is what truly sets Harold and Andy apart from the other older figures in Jude’s life (those villains played by Cowan). Varla’s portrayal of Harold is always evaluating his own movements, always second guessing himself before moving towards Jude - he does not seek out the easy, casual contact shown by the other three young adults. But when Jude comes to him for comfort, Harold is always eager to provide it.
The final scene of Harold and Jude embracing - Jude in his wheelchair, Harold knelt on the ground in front of him, with the rejected trays of food scattered on the floor around him - when Norton practically falls into Varla’s arms, sobbing into his shoulder, as a screen slowly comes down to hide them, JB on the outside, is one that I believe will stay with me for years to come.
There is an emotion in Varla’s voice when he confides in the audience the story of Jacob, his first son. And in that closing scene we are forced back to that monologue, when he confesses to anyone listening that when Jacob died, there was a little part of him relieved, as that meant it was over. And although it is heartbreaking, it is this statement that makes it no real surprise that when the screen lifts again, Harold is alone in front of that wheelchair to report Jude’s suicide.
Where Armin’s Ana shows the sympathetic side of the audience, the aching desire to hug Jude and promise him it will be okay, to protect him both from the world and himself, Doorgasingh’s Andy exhibits the rougher side of it. His frustration at Jude’s abject refusal to accept help, his anger at watching someone he loves destroy themselves. The hopelessness he feels when his advice goes unnoticed, and his frequent calls to Harold and Willem - often screaming at the two people Jude is closest to, desperate for them to be there for him more.
Andy does not have the same stage presence as many of the other characters do, instead he - and the same can be said for Malcom - almost fades into the background at times. But they are there, ready to pick up the pieces. Both Doorgasingh and Wyatt are spectacular in their characterisations. In the novel, Andy and Malcom show an awareness that they are not the most important people to Jude, that they cannot help him in the ways others can, and in this adaptation, the actors bring that feeling to life.
They are there, working in their own lives, on their own projects. Malcom quietly sees what Jude refuses to acknowledge about his worsening condition and accommodating for it even despite the push back of his best friend. And Andy who can be seen pacing at the side of the stage, calling Jude when he can sense everything is getting too much for him - they are both there for him in their own quiet ways, and their loyalty and love for Jude is never questioned by the audience. It is also important to note that in this adaptation of the novel, neither of these characters address the audience directly - the only two whose focuses are solely within the story with no fourth-wall breaks.
Omari Douglas as JB, on the other hand, stands out more than anyone. First as a result of his costumes - often more brighter than those of his castmates - and then just as how he presents himself. Anyone who watched his performance in It’s a Sin will recall how Douglas’ presence demands to be noticed, and this is carried forth onto the Harold Pinter Stage. He captures the heart of JB’s character - desperate to be heard, to be needed by his friends. Charming in his own way, despite how his messy character causes him to betray his friends at several points in the story.
Douglas transitions well from how JB is around his friends - brash, loud, confident - to how he truly feels when talking to the audience. His voice is softer, he somehow seems a little smaller as he talks about watching Jude, how he feels Willem doesn’t value his friendship as highly as the others, how he feels they don’t need him anymore.
While JB’s drug addiction is rather rushed in this adaptation - it’s discussed at length in the novel - Douglas eloquently displays his anguish to the audience, his desperation to quit. A previously difficult to like character, after having seen him mock Jude’s disability, and betray his trust, the audience is able to empathise and understand him better. And when it is just him and Jude left at the end of the show, Douglas doesn’t say anything, but takes up the same space as had previously been filled by Willem and Malcom. He quietly watches Jude - just as he had before with his painting, only this time, it’s out of concern for his friend, rather than concern for his career and viewing him as a muse.
I have already mentioned how this production brought me to tears on several occasions, however none made me sob more so than Luke Thompson’s monologue at the end before his car crash. Having already read the book several times, I had known that this was coming and yet it didn’t stop me from hoping that somehow I’d misunderstood the plot point and that Willem did actually survive. So when Thompson took centre-stage and I knew what was next, my sister took my hand as the two of us prepared ourselves.
Beyond the tear-jerker of a monologue, when I later considered the adaptation as a whole I wondered over the choice to mention Hemming at that point. Perhaps this mention worked some some of the audience, however for me I felt it should have been mentioned earlier, as it is in the novel. With Willem only mentioning Hemming before he dies and only in reference to Jude, it caused me to reflect somewhat poorly on their relationship. It’s a minor point about the adaptation, however I do wonder if mentioning his older brother earlier, before Jude himself begins to use a wheelchair, it would have been more impactful.
I could sing praises about the chemistry between Norton and Thompson onstage - however considering I have the voice of a dying seal, it’s probably best that I don’t. Instead, I’ll simply say that their interactions in the second act, as Willem confesses his attraction to Jude, and he struggles to understand it caused my heart to skip a beat.
Norton captures Jude’s innocence throughout the play perfectly - from the moments that he slips into his childhood self in flashbacks, to when he’s so unsure in his relationship with Willem, unused to being with someone who does genuinely love and care for him.
All in all, I enjoyed this stage adaptation of A Little Life - if “enjoy” can be the correct word for a production that brought me to tears and caused me to question the meaning of life. It was hauntingly beautiful, heartbreakingly sad and utterly harrowing. I don’t believe I’ve ever been quite so moved by a whole troupe of actors and the way that they characterise their roles. While I certainly have some criticisms and hang-ups about this show and the story in general, I shall save those for another post, hopefully less long and wordy.
Would I return to the Harold Pinter Theatre to watch it again given the choice? Truthfully, I’m not sure. While I fell in love with these actors, the direction, set design and music, I’m unsure if I could watch it again and feel the same level of intensity as I did on this watch. Also, I cried enough to give myself a headache by the end - so if I were to watch again, I’d have to remember to bring a water bottle to ensure I stayed hydrated.
