Twine review – threeway tree metaphors in a fractured exploration of adoption

The fracturing experience of childhood adoption manifests as a split self on stage. There are three versions of one woman, from different points in life, talking about a fourth, present-day incarnation, off stage. The ambition is to become whole but that requires a painful journey back to the beginning.
Selina Thompson’s play employs an overarching tree metaphor, so the split selves are Sapling (Angelina Chudi), Bark (Muki Zubis) and Seed (Nandi Bhebhe), on a mission to unite with their whole self, called Sycamore. We hear her story and theories around her splitting and how race intersects with social inequality and ideological biases to work against Black families.
Naomi Kuyck-Cohen’s symbolist set features three tree-like structures, the central one comprised of folders and files for those who have been adopted, and among which Sycamore’s unknown history sits.
Family violence and generational abuse is at the heart of her backstory and the story of a dead sibling leaves many questions unanswered – Sycamore’s blood mother is dead so vital lacunae remain for her, as is the case, no doubt, for many adopted children.
Under the direction of Jennifer Tang, there are a lot of parts that do not always cohere: the three selves fight about the decision to open their file and make meta-theatrical references to the show they are performing, before giving us glimpses into Sycamore’s past.
They visit a social worker to discover what led to her adoption at five days old, and we are given glimpses into the lives of both blood and adoptive mothers. If the split selves are trying to join up the various parts, we are too. This story of fracture seems too fractured, so much so it becomes opaque and hard to follow.
Partly inspired by a true story, its subject matter is powerful but its dramatic effect is often lost, with one scene jumping to another unrelated one, and characters expounding theories around the bigger structural causes and effects of adoption in Black families, and its intersections with imperialism and immigration. Too many questions – on maternal violence, toxic inheritance and whether an act of violence is a result of structural inequality or inherent evil – are asked, without being explored. Conversely, too much information is thrown out and explained, with exposition, statistics and ideological critique not joining up to form a whole.
Individual scenes are potent. Actors intermittently break into song, beautifully harmonised. Bhebhe is a standout performer and carries the play, tripling up in roles – from the social worker who is sharply satirised as a kind of gospel preacher to Sycamore’s mothers. Chudi and Zubis act around her but their roles are often that of witnesses, too often static. The material is rich with promise though, if it could be better harnessed for more emotional and dramatic effect.