I think I’m still processing the performance from David Finnigan’s incredible solo show at the Barbican Centre, so I'll start with the emotional aspect while I work through the simultaneous feelings of hope and despair that circle around me as I write.

The show begins with a casual, almost jovial, introduction from the artist - a theme throughout - in what feels like an intimate discussion with a close friend. Finnigan's demeanour is one of earnest excitement, with a need to share his story with us as equals. I feel calm as we open into insights from the artist’s life and upbringing - one of many emotions that will bubble up over the course of the hour.

I’m keen not to give too much away here as I believe the reason I have been left feeling so emotionally conflicted is down to the power of Finnigan’s writing and the subtle shifts in his own emotional journey that resonate toward the audience. Don’t get me wrong, I am by no means saying that this was overwhelming or a bad experience. On the contrary, I thought that the ability to transpose emotion was incredible and I could easily give this show a full five stars for that alone. But that’s not all that makes this show so special, there’s also the storytelling.

Back in the room we are transported to 2019 and Finnigan is beginning to tell us about his friend who has been caught in the Australian wildfires, and the simultaneous task of writing up his father’s notes on a proposed roadmap to survive the climate era. Armed with a simple projector, laptop and paper, Finnigan starts his journey.

Through an hour of anecdotes and shifting perceptions, the underlying threads weave beautifully together in a tapestry of unpretentious and overtly beautiful stories. The resultant piece of theatre is split into two main timescales, that of ‘2019 David’ who is experiencing shocking updates from his friend in Australia during the outbreaks of wildfires sparked by climate change across a period of a few days, and that of the global human across the Anthropocene. We travel through time and across continents to meet this unnamed protagonist as she deals with key moments of change, time and again facing the shifting climate through the lens of metempsychosis. As we travel, Finnigan pours out larger and larger quantities of raw sugar into a funnel to represent the growing population, acting as a physical ticking clock as he paces.

The effect of this is one of scientific, borderline philosophical contemplation, that delves deeply into our experiences with climate disasters becoming increasingly frequent, and our sometimes selfish reaction to them. 

One of the central explorations of the piece surrounds art and theatre’s place in the environmental anxiety we find ourselves within. Poignantly, there’s no concrete answer, the show’s denouement leading to a mental shrug of the shoulders that the audience partakes in through its presence. It could be bleak, but it’s not. 

Somehow through our participation as an intimate audience with Finnigan’s stories, we continue them as we exit. I find myself still considering the lessons, both optimistic and less so, well after I’ve seen the piece, and that is something I believe art and theatre truly can help with when faced with the overwhelming anxiety of the climate era. Much like his protagonist, the message itself undergoes its own transmigration, settling deep in the gut of its audience.

Find out more about David Finnigan: davidfinig.com