The universe, Emma Howlett reminds us at the outset of her dense, intellectually fizzing play — fresh from the Edinburgh Fringe and now running at Jermyn Street Theatre — doesn't care about us. Four particles take to the stage and announce as much: we’re specks, briefly conscious, adrift in something incomprehensibly vast and strange. A wheel is spun. Who will each particle become?
Aether is framed as a lecture: the audience are the pupils handed whiteboards and asked mid-show to sketch Ptolemy's geocentric model of the universe. Within that conceit we follow a patchwork of vignettes that juxtapose and intercut across time, gender, discipline and cosmos. The cast morph via accents, physicality and drawn-on moustaches into a procession of real women who wrestled with the universe's secrets: Hypatia, the philosopher murdered in 415 AD for her pagan scholarship; Vera Rubin, whose evidence for dark matter was denied recognition; Adelaide Herrmann, the illusionist who took over her husband's act after his death and became one of the most celebrated performers of her age. Each figure, beyond the play's broader comment on sexism in STEM, has been chosen to chart the continued cost of curiosity. Whether the play always makes that case clearly enough amid the chaos is a different matter (pun intended).
Aether finds its footing in its character-driven moments rather than its themes. Gemma Barnett is dazzling across multiple roles — most searingly as Hypatia before her death— and it's here that Howlett's writing has the most room to breathe. The gooey centre is a present-day relationship: Sophie (Sophie Kean), a PhD student searching for answers through formula and data, and her girlfriend (Anna Marks Pryce). Their argument about Plato's allegory in the cave is the play's central tension: Sophie wants to drag everyone into the light; her girlfriend believes that there’s beauty in the unknown. By the end, Sophie’s obsession corrodes the relationship in a way that feels both inevitable and earned.
Howlett's direction is noticeably assured — the use of the full stage and the crowd give the production a fun restlessness. Dance sequences, stylish and tightly choreographed, lend rhythm and texture, though they also contribute to the production's essential choppiness. The lighting (Ed Saunders) and sound design (Sarah Spencer) do some heavy lifting given the minimal set, though the cast — a genuinely talented ensemble — do most of it themselves.
The production’s biggest problem is that it feels heavy with its own intelligence — the script is twisty and pacey, and it's easy to be swept along without quite knowing where you've ended up, or why it’s relevant. In its better moments, though, Aether and its creatives are genuinely, lovingly sincere.
