Steep Theatre Company’s A Slow Air:
An Astonishing Journey Into Forbidden Territory
“Estrangement” is an unfriendly word that carries with it all kinds of negative connotations–hostility, alienation, distrust, anger and, somewhat paradoxically, very often confusion. It’s also a word that many people are ashamed of or are uncomfortable talking about; especially when it’s a part of their own lives. This makes David Harrower’s deeply absorbing play, A Slow Air, so unexpected and oddly welcome. Harrower, a native Scot, wrote the play over a decade ago. It tells the story of a brother and sister from Edinburgh, living entirely disconnected lives in the city where they were born. Through his narrative, we are taken inside their minds and present circumstances to uncover the reasons behind their schism while measuring the personal toll this estrangement has taken on each of them.
Taking its name from what many consider the most beautiful form of traditional Scottish music, A Slow Air embodies the same lovely, penetrating melancholy that defines its namesake. Unhurried and deeply reliant on the interpretive skill of its performers, Harrower’s wonderfully eloquent play—despite its amusing profusion of F-bombs—is a subtly remarkable tour de force under Robin Witt’s discerning and sensitive direction. As you attune yourself to the musicality of the Scottish accents and become acclimated to the easy rhythm of this one-act marvel, you lose yourself in the personal struggle of strangers.
Everything about the production is intentionally stripped bare to emphasize what truly matters: the characters and their words. Playing at The Edge Off Broadway until their new home is ready, Steep Theatre Company and scenic designer Sotirios Livaditis have transformed the typically open theater space into one of intimacy and focus. The stage is completely barren, devoid of furniture or ornamentation, with the only warmth coming from the shade of pale green on the walls. There’s nothing to draw attention away from Athol (Peter Moore), whose words reveal a man consumed by the relentless demands of trying to survive. As a homebuilding contractor, his entire life revolves around chasing contracts to remain solvent and viable. Though discontent with the neighborhood he and his wife have just moved to, as well as their new house, Athol forges ahead without a hint of any bitterness that might taint or compromise his resolve.
So captivating is Athol’s monologue that you don’t notice a woman entering from a door far stage left. It’s his sister, Morna (Kendra Thulin), who steps into the spotlight as Athol quietly retreats. For most of the 80 minutes, the siblings take turns commanding the stage, as if inhabiting totally distinct universes—speaking about themselves and each other, but rarely to one another. Both Moore and Thulin exemplify what fine acting looks like.
Morna is a woman with moxie who speaks her mind and doesn’t pull punches. Despite that edge, she doesn’t come across as abrasive—just toughened, steeled, and tempered by life. A single mom to a son about to turn 21, she makes a living cleaning the homes of Edinburgh’s wealthy—something she never envisioned in her youth. Morna confesses she’s “never been good with men,” yet she harbors no resentment about her job or the circumstances of becoming a mother. Reflecting on her son’s father, she remarks, “he came, he went,” seeming grateful and happy with the child she bore from the encounter. Though Joshua, her son, never appears on stage, he becomes an ominous bridge between a brother and sister who haven’t spoken in 14 years.
A surprise visit Joshua makes to his uncle introduces an element of suspense, generating a sense of anticipatory energy. The two haven’t seen each other since Joshua was seven, and Athol finds his nephew to be far different from what he expected. Initially reserved, Joshua becomes more at ease but his viewpoints are perplexing. He’s curiously concerned about the “fearful times” they’re living in, seems disdainful for the presence of Muslims, and demonstrates a detailed awareness of the Glasgow airport bombing—a terrorist attack carried out years earlier in retaliation for Western actions in Iraq, very near where Athol now resides. Other remarks and actions also disclose a person who’s not averse to dispensing his own cruelty.
By the time we learn that all three shared the same space during Joshua’s birthday gathering—albeit unintentionally—the emotional toll of their estrangement becomes undeniable. There’s a palpable sense of longing for the rift to heal. In circumstances like this, periods of ambiguity often precede either reconciliation or the continuation of old patterns. A Slow Air leaves us poised on that delicate cusp, allowing you to imagine what might come next for this fractured trio. That invitation to imagine those possibilities serves as a generous parting gift from a production that’s as riveting as it is touching. By relentlessly and “fearlessly” telling stories of “ordinary people in extraordinary situations,” Steep keeps the bar on theater excellence in Chicago sky high.
photos by Joseph Chretien-Golden
A Slow Air
Steep Theatre Company
The Edge Off Broadway, 1133 W Catalpa Ave
Thurs-Sat at 7:30; Sun at 3
ends on March 1, 2025
for tickets ($20-$35), visit Steep
for more shows, visit Theatre in Chicago
