Lacrima arrives at the Barbican not simply as a drama but as a contribution its current focus on fashion, and, truth be told, it works neither as a sustained meditation on the allure and vices of the world of haute couture, nor as drama.
We find ourselves plunged into the midst of a crisis as a therapist on video tries to reach out to a female client who seems to have taken an overdose. Paramedics arrive and try to revive her, and then the action freezes and we are taken back eight months to the start of the story for which this is the culmination.
The stage is crowded and cluttered: we are mostly in the atelier of the fictional Parisian house of Beliana surrounded with all the traditional accoutrements of that profession – cutting tables, mannequins and swathes of fabric. But there is also a video split screen above and the lines between stage and wings are blurred as we see characters off stage who appear on screen. It turns out there are three locations in play, Paris, Mumbai and Alençon, and what binds them all together is a wedding dress.
A British designer has been commissioned to make a wedding dress for an English princess of huge complexity, with the dress made in Paris, the bridal veil, a fragile historic piece of lace, to be repaired intricately in Alençon, and, finally, a huge train to be embroidered with pearls in Mumbai. The play seeks to unfold not just this story but the family dramas of the leader of Paris atelier, one of the lace makers, and also the back story of the lead embroiderer in Mumbai, a muslim man with fading eyesight.
It will be clear that there is almost as much going on in this play as there is on the surface of the fabled bridal gown, and therein lies the problem. There are simply too many characters and too many themes vying for our attention over a three hour span with no interval. The whole work desperately needs a dramaturg to bring some order and shape to it. There are too many storylines with too much redundant exposition and extraneous detail .
That is not to say that there are not memorable characters and scenes and issues here – in fact they are abundant, but often lost and swathed in long yards of unfiltered dialogue in three languages as uncut as the bales of cloth lying on the tables. There are also a range of excellent, detailed and emotionally searing performances from the cast, though I cannot name them as the listed performers are not matched with characters in the digital programme.
Among the points that stand out most memorably are the abusive relationship between Marion, the leader of the fashion house, and her husband, and the consequences for their child; the physical costs of a career in embroidery in lacemaking, and the corporate double standards that create protocols which insulate the Western company from legal blame while doing nothing for workers on the ground.
However, the broadest and biggest question of all remains sadly underdeveloped. Namely how one dress, even if exquisite and trend-setting, could be worth all that human cost in suffering and man hours just for a brief exposure in a single church service in Westminster Abbey? If the play had concentrated more on this issue and what it reveals of how we tie together the fashion industry, the royal family, the cult of celebrity, and the use and abuse of craft skills in the developing world then it would have dug deeper and been a better focused dramatic event.
As it stands, the play resembles a nineteenth-century opera, where each scene is intriguing in its own right, but a strategic editorial hand is needed to achieve overall coherence and sustained dramatic impact.
Writer & Director: Caroline Guiela Nguyen
Cast: Dan Artus, Dinah Bellity, Natasha Cashman, Charles Vinoth Irudhayaraj, Anaele Jan Kerguistel, Maud Le Grevellec, Liliane Lipau, Nanii, Rajarajeswari Parisot and Vasanth Selvam
Until 27 September 2025
3 hrs with no interval
Photo Credit: Jean-Louis Fernandez