JUSTICE — reparative, restorative, retributive, whichever form — lies at the heart of Fran Kranz’s new play, Mass, at the Donmar. The action takes place in the swish meeting room of an Episcopal church, somewhere in the United States. But the title is not liturgical: it refers to the mass shooting of several schoolchildren by a fellow student. Seven years on, the church is hosting a meeting between two sets of parents: one couple whose child was killed, the other whose child was the killer and then turned the gun on himself.
The first 20 minutes set up the scenario, as two church employees (Amari Baachus and Susie Trayling) bustle around cleaning and preparing the room. Kendra (Rochelle Rose), the support worker who has brokered the meeting, arrives to pave the way, professional but also maternal. Then the parents.
At first, it is not clear which is which until the quartet are alone, seated around a table, the pleasantries are strung out, and one of the mothers snaps. “We want to know why he did it,” pleads Gail, whose despair is sketched so achingly by Lyndsey Marshal. Her husband is Jay, a sinuous and blotted volcano of a man in the skilled hands of Adeel Akhtar. They loved their son, and bring photos of him.
The killer’s father, Richard, is suited and formal. Paul Hilton portrays a respectful and confused parent, who cannot explain the devastation to himself, let alone to others. Linda, his estranged wife, is nervy, unbalanced; the depth and pathos in Monica Dolan’s performance is a masterclass.
Kranz — influenced by Desmond Tutu’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission — has cleverly avoided setting up binaries between class, race, culture, or education. These are four parents eviscerated by grief. All had hopes for their children, and yet those lives were cut short, and something of the parents died with them that day, too.
The work started off life as a play, but Kranz impulsively rushed it to a screenplay, and the film appeared in 2021 (Arts, 11 March 2022). Now performed properly on stage for the first time, it has had its première in London (where our problem is more knives than guns).
Carrie Cracknell directs like a conductor with a Mahler symphony, everything having just enough air. As the meeting between the parents begins, the revolve underneath the table begins to turn ever so slowly, and each face is seen. There is nowhere to hide, and no catch is dropped.
The costly burden of forgiveness is the crux of their dialogue, once they have gone through the what-ifs and the whys. Accusation, recrimination, and defence all prove futile. Their grief, like Guy Hoare’s lighting and Anna Yates’s set, is both soft and precise. There is an empty cross on the back wall, a witness to what feels like the harrowing of hell at times, as the characters try to find words for unspeakable tragedy. The promise of resurrection and the fragility of hope are both present. It is painful, perfect, and deserves every award.
Mass runs at the Donmar Warehouse, Earlham Street, London WC2, until 6 June. Phone 020 3282 3808. donmarwarehouse.com