Babies, the apocalypse and 'In the night time (Before the Sun Rises)' at the Gate Theatre.

Robbi Behr's Babies ruin everything Image:Idiots' books

Have you heard of the 'The Motherhood Challenge'?

No, it is not a tautology.



On Facebook, mothers are being challenged to post pictures of themselves which make them feel proud to be a mother whilst nominating other mums who they think should also feel proud.

It appears everyone hates it. For those who do not have children, both by choice and circumstance, this is just the sort of exclusive smug activity that has them reaching for the 'Hide posts from this person' button. Whilst those busting their balls just to make sure their children stay alive are feeling the pressure to be a saint when really all they want to do is get on with the job.

In the night time seeks to explore the reality and whilst this version of reality may seem bleak and even downright apocalyptic, it feels like a necessary redress of the balance. It reminded me of Duncan Macmillan's equally thought provoking Lungs, which also addresses similar conundrums; Is a child going to destroy my world? Is it fair to bring a child into an unequal world on the brink of collapse especially as the environmental consequences of said child contributes to the ongoing destruction of the planet? Or in other words; Is my child going to destroy the world? Puts those decisions about whether you can handle losing your lie-ins into perspective doesn't it?

In the night time begins with a pile of stuff and a man and woman (who remain unnamed) vacuum packed within it. They rip of the plastic, gasp for air and take us back in time to when they met to work out how the fuck it all happened to them. The dialogue, as is fashionable, is told in third person, which should feel detached but it isn't because the performances are energetic and imbued with an insomniac's delirium. Both Alex Waldmann and Adelle Leonce work hard, there are moments where Nina Segal's witty and poetic text sags a little, an extended storytelling session was particularly drawn out. Yet imaginatively propelling direction from Ben Kidd of the rather brilliant Dead Centre meant they were able to take the audience smoothly from domestic mundanity to hallucinatory urban distopia and back with ease. It was a bit like being taken on a high speed magic carpet ride through London at night, in which they occasionally had to reach out and grab you before you fell off the side on a particularly tight corner round a block of flats in Lewisham, whilst all the time their baby still cries.

Georgia Lowe's setting was suitably claustrophobic. Man and Woman were trapped in a wall-less freight container, the type that usually contains a load of stuff from China, wading through a load of  stuff they had bought from China to protect them from their new child bomb. The stuff begins to take up so much space they are forced to teeter on the edges clinging on to the side for their dear life almost willing themselves not to fall off the edge. This is all accompanied by George Dennis warping sound scape, which used the underlying discord taken from tinny childhood toys to create a subtle swell of noise which grew painfully oppressive with its consistency. The child itself, ominously pulled from an amazon box, was a little disappointingly literal, but the use of an alarm sound in place of the babies crying, complete with flashing head made the experience, well not enough to actually make you scream, out loud but certainly internally.

I rather stupidly invited a pregnant friend to accompany me to see the play. She already has a child and whilst she laughingly told me it had brought back memories she had conveniently forgotten, she admitted it wasn't going to give her nightmares. I don't have children, although I have been trying for three years to have one, so the thought of what it would be like isn't far from my mind. I can imagine from within the sleepless aftermath of realising you are responsible for a real live human animal, it must feel like time has stopped and this is now your life forever. It must seem hard to believe you wished this upon yourself. Yet, it won't last forever. People cope, they cope with children and they cope without, they love having children, they love not having them. In many ways the hallucinatory experience of the world collapsing around you is familiar to everyone living on this planet. Living is a headfuck. It won't last forever though, so hold on tight and try to bloody enjoy yourself.