Walking into Oxford’s Old Fire Station is always a wonderfully warm experience, the relaxed atmosphere continuing as we took our drinks into the small, intimate theatre. However, I didn’t touch my glass of wine – the performances making it impossible to break the connection between actors and audiences with even the smallest sip.
Sat in the front row, almost part of the staging, the lady sat next to me openly cried at several points and I scrabbled to offer her a hanky while focusing hard on that extra large lump in my own throat.
Lekha Desai Morrison‘s brilliantly effective drama Remember Me, is a heartfelt gem of a play, delivering an up-close and personal examination of dementia’s impact on intimate family relationships.
A meticulously crafted production, it neatly transcended the stereotypical narratives to offer something much more profound, but also ordinary. Exploring thoughts on what makes up someone’s identity, connections with people you love in a universal family setting, and the enduring power of those bonds of love amid a devastating diagnosis and serious cognitive decline.
Morrison’s script, developed and performed with support from Landmark Theatres UK and Arts Council England, demonstrates remarkable restraint. Rather than resorting to melodrama and showy performances, she presents a carefully calibrated portrait of one small family’s journey through the progressive stages of dementia—from early confusion and denial on all sides to the difficult post diagnosis adjustment of those relationships.
At the heart of this production, for me, was Karen Ford‘s masterful performance as Sally, the family’s loving and generous matriarch, watching her affectionate husband Jack begin to slowly disappear before her eyes. Ford brings exceptional emotional depth to her role – it was almost too painful to watch her at times.
Her face completely conveyed Sally’s complex mix of devotion, frustration at her own loss of the freedoms that she’d taken for granted, and an insight into caregivers’ physical and mental exhaustion. She fully captured the experience; remaining loyally steadfast and present while also mourning someone who is physically there but psychologically in retreat – even managing to bring some light relief through her perceived jealousy and heartbreak of a new friendship Jack forges with another woman at his dementia centre.
As the ebullient and creative Jack, Benji Ming delivers an equally compelling, more physical performance, avoiding the trap of presenting dementia as a one-note condition, instead showing the fluctuating nature of the disease—fleeting moments of clarity, interspersed with profound confusion and frustrated rage, often directed at the TV remote control, which we can all empathise with! His performance was particularly affecting in scenes where the playful and loving ‘old Jack’ briefly resurfaced, creating moments of levity and affection that resonated throughout.
Local Oxford actress, Hetty Bentley rounds out the central trio of performers as Keira, the adult daughter on the cusp of getting married, forced to reckon with her beloved father’s condition while navigating increased feelings of loss and shared responsibility. With real tenderness Bentley portrays Keira’s evolution from reluctant acceptance and sometimes annoyance, to becoming another essential caregiver – not just for her father but her mother too – capturing the complex parent-child relationship which is often reversed by this terrible condition.
The minimalist set design by Victoria Spearing creates a basic, domestic space that subtly alters and deteriorates throughout the performance, mirroring Jack’s cognitive state. Particularly affecting was the steady ‘removal’ of Jack’s many colourful paintings, steadily decreasing as he worsened and lost his ability and interest in art. Similarly, Rachel Luff’s lighting design employs gradually subtle shifting patterns both soft and harsh.
Director Tristan Jackson-Pate showed exceptional sensitivity in his handling of the material, allowing silence and stillness, subtle prop moves and clothing changes, to speak as loudly as the dialogue, and show the passage of time. The thoughtful, unhurried pacing also mirrors the agonising, incremental progression of dementia itself—almost imperceptible changes accumulating into Jack’s profound transformation by the closing scenes.
As the audience, we all experienced that sense of losing the firm ground from under our feet as disorientation and grief took hold, making for a deeply immersive and sometimes uncomfortable theatrical experience. The production maintains this delicate balance throughout its shortish runtime, with no interval, never descending into sentimentality nor becoming clinically detached.
Remember Me succeeds not just as powerful and intimate theatre but as an important contribution to public discourse about dementia care and support in the UK. By illuminating the deeply personal characteristics of a condition often discussed in medical or statistical terms, I left the theatre feeling a much greater empathy and understanding of dementia, and a respect for carers through an accessible and engaging narrative, even for those of us lucky enough to have no direct experience.
With its exceptional central performances, thoughtful direction, and compassionate script, Remember Me stands as one of the most affecting theatrical examinations of dementia I have seen. The sniffles and sobs in the audience reminded us that even as memory fades, human connection and a shared history transcends that loss—perhaps becoming even more precious at the close.
Catherine Davies
