There are startling, sparkling episodes in All of Us, revelatory moments when you hear and see experiences new to the stage of the National, which is working hard to expand the repertoire of the lives it projects. You would expect this from Francesca Martinez, the writer and standup who describes her cerebral palsy as being “wobbly”. You would expect it from director Ian Rickson, who brings his minute focus to the action: under Anna Watson’s quiet lighting the stage spins around between scenes; the movement is slow but it is pushed by rage. What a pity that the rough edges of surprise and sharp ironies are muffled by explanation.
Martinez, calmly humorous, plays a therapist, good at saving patients from themselves, bad at getting angry on her own behalf. Her “wobbliness” means she can’t do buttons or shake Shreddies into a bowl. But though she often shuffles on her knees, she can walk a little and so is assessed as too fit to merit the car on which she relies. As her angrier, spliff-smoking friend, Francesca Mills tries to goad her into action as she firecrackers around in a wheelchair: “Spit it out. I know you don’t swallow.” This 21-year-old commands two of the most highly charged scenes: a sinuous seduction, and a different sort of going to bed, when her mates ease her into a nappy for the 10 hours when a carer can’t visit.
