The Undying review at Soho Theatre, a tender sci fi love story about ageing

Theatre does not often sit with ageing in such a direct way. The Undying, now at Soho Theatre, starts with something that sounds almost harmless: a pill that halves your age each time you take it.

Written by Rea Dennhardt Patel and directed by Imy Wyatt Corner, the story follows Amba and Prav, 85 and 90, long married, settled into their habits. Then TwiceLife™ appears.

“You take one, you wake up half your age.”

It is said as if it is obvious. As if the choice should be simple. Amba is drawn to it straight away. Prav hesitates. She takes it. He doesn’t. That small difference opens everything up.

As Amba resets, she returns younger each time, but not just physically. Her tone changes. Her priorities shift. There is more impatience in her, more hunger to live differently. What starts as excitement slowly becomes something harder to define. The marriage does not collapse in one dramatic scene. It shifts in smaller ways. A comment that lands differently. A pause that lingers.

Dennhardt Patel’s writing keeps the focus on the relationship rather than the sci fi concept. The idea of the pill is clear, but it never turns into spectacle. Instead, the play keeps circling questions about regret, compromise and what happens when one person wants to start again and the other does not. There are hints of generational expectation beneath it all, shaped by the playwright’s inspiration from her grandmother, but they are woven in gently.

The atmosphere at this performance felt close and engaged. There were laughs, sometimes warm, sometimes edged with discomfort. The silences felt thoughtful rather than heavy. You could sense people listening carefully.

The design supports that intimacy. Rajiv Pattni’s lighting and AV shift the mood without drawing attention. Cooler tones settle in when distance grows. Warmer light returns in moments of closeness. Sammy Dowson’s set and costume consultancy keeps the space simple and adaptable. Part of me wondered how it would feel if the visuals changed more dramatically as Amba changed, but the restraint keeps the focus on the two of them.

Music by Ansuman Biswas is used lightly. It creates atmosphere but never pushes emotion.

Vaishnavi Suryaprakash handles Amba’s transitions with control. Each version feels like the same person at a different stage, not a caricature of youth or age. The shifts are subtle. A sharper response. A different energy in the body.

Akaash Dev Shemar gives Prav a quiet steadiness. His refusal to take the pill feels grounded, not dramatic. His stillness shapes the space. Together they feel like a couple who have shared real time.

“If you change everything, what’s left of us?”

The line lands plainly. It does not need emphasis.

The first half moves confidently. Later, a few reflective moments stretch a little longer than they need to, though the honesty between the actors holds the scenes in place.

By the end, what becomes clear is the growing difference between them. Not through shouting or big gestures, but through small shifts. A shared rhythm that no longer quite matches.

By the end, what becomes clear is the growing difference between them. Not through shouting or big gestures, but through small shifts. A shared rhythm that no longer quite matches.

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