Even the walk to your seat at A Little Life is an ominous experience. Signs in the lobby warn of suicide, nudity, drugs, self-harm, rape and violence. (Charmingly, swearing and smoking are also listed.) Crisis helplines are listed on placards. Two paramedics sit just outside the theatre doors – they’re always there, one of them says, but they’re well aware of what is about to happen on stage. They’re ready. Some of the audience are not.
Even if you’ve avoided the celebrated and pilloried novel by Hanya Yanagihara, you will have likely heard of it: a 700-pager following four friends, all of them are beautiful, talented and devoted to each other, as they live and work in an atemporal New York. There’s JB, a talented artist whose work is sought by major galleries; Willem, a kind, handsome actor; and Malcolm, an accomplished architect at a prestigious firm.
