Beyond Caring, National Theatre, London - review

Political theatre comes in many forms - satirical, funny, polemical. But it is perhaps at its most powerful when understated, as in this quietly devastating piece by Alexander Zeldin about three women living with the reality of low-wage, zero-hour contract employment. It's an issue that has been hotly debated in the run-up to the British general election. Zeldin's play, making a welcome transfer to the National from The Yard Theatre in east London, doesn't argue points: it remains deliberately low-key and simply shows you the grinding inhumanity of working like this, of living like this. It is, rightly, hard to watch.

Grace, Susan and Becky are agency cleaners, working temporary night shifts at a meat factory alongside one regular employee Phil (Sean O'Callaghan) and a nit-picking supervisor, Ian (Luke Clarke). What we learn about them we glean in snippets - as you might in a workplace - but we gradually realise that each is struggling with serious problems. Becky (Victoria Moseley), prickly, defensive, has a child she only sees at weekends. Grace (Janet Etuk), fragile, nervous, has rheumatoid arthritis but has been passed fit for work. Susan (Kristin Hutchinson), 48, says little, but tiny details - such as the fact that when offered a biscuit she surreptitiously hides a handful - suggest that she is homeless. None of them asks for sympathy, in fact their determination to retain their pride is one of the most moving aspects of the piece.

It's slow. Not much happens. If this were a soap opera there might be a major disaster, but Zeldin boldly sticks to unostentatious naturalism and draws the audience into this world. The drama is in the minutiae and the cast deliver subtle, precisely observed performances. There's an awful lot of cleaning, punctuated by breaks timed to the second by Ian. He likes to spout jargon and embodies the casual callousness of the system, coolly informing Becky that she can't have a night off to see her child and harassing Grace, who is struggling to keep up and terrified of losing the work. The sight of her toiling to clean a hulking piece of machinery is deeply upsetting.

The slow pace can be a strain and the dialogue is delivered at such naturalistic levels that it is too often inaudible, which is a problem. But this raw, unsentimental piece has immense cumulative power and quietly conveys just what it means to live with such a crippling lack of security.

To May 16, nationaltheatre.org.uk

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