In August 2000 the Russian nuclear submarine Kursk exploded, killing all 118 men aboard, though 23 of them might have survived if rescuers had reached the bubble in which they had taken refuge. But this disaster happens offstage in the play that Sound and Fury has created in tandem with the dramatist Bryony Lavery. This is set in a British sub spying on Russian warships and taking photos of the Kursk in the Arctic — and implies that our boys might have rescued the stricken sailors if an agonised captain hadn’t decided that giving away his vessel’s position would have put London, Moscow and Washington on red alert.
Not that the piece’s creators are in an accusatory mood. Nor should they be. Though this isn’t mentioned in the play, the Russians did in fact reject offers of help from the British and Norwegians. Also, it’s a bit unlikely that one of our subs could have sneaked beneath an ultra-modern vessel without being detected, and done so just before the explosions that sunk her. But somehow that doesn’t prevent you from suspending disbelief in an evening derived from what’s clearly been thorough research into life inside a sub.
To that end, the Young Vic’s Maria auditorium has been transformed into the innards of a sub, complete with conning tower, computers, bunks, showers, a captain’s cabin with photos and a chess set, a dining area, and steel and wire gadgetry galore. And this combines with everything from technical jargon (“torpedo hatch dry!”) to banter among the leading seamen to make you feel that you, too, are in the weird midnight that’s the world deep below the waves and the ice. Whether you stand on a specially constructed walkway above, like me, or mingle promenade-fashion with the submariners below, there’s a documentary authenticity to everything you see.
Aside from the climactic encounter with the Kursk, not a lot that’s obviously dramatic happens. There’s a bang, which is a collision with a stray container. There are odd clinkings, which turn out to have a comical explanation. Laurence Mitchell, playing the captain, must decide whether to hand a seaman the telegram revealing that the baby he adores has died. But the lack of sensational incident is surely a strength, not a weakness. All cavils aside, this is an absorbing, even riveting glimpse into dark, secret places.
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Box office: 020-7928 6363, to June 27