Bold claim: The Royal Court’s The S***heads dares to drag a Stone Age nightmare into the modern day and somehow keeps us hooked, not just by gore but by a sharp, sly sense of relevance. But here’s where it gets controversial: the play’s most provocative choices aren’t just the cannibal imagery—they’re the way it messes with time, language, and audience expectations to pry open timeless truths.
The S***heads reimagines the Stone Age as a stage for examining brutality, belonging, and the stubborn persistence of human psychology. On a stark Jerwood Theatre Upstairs set, a three-person cave family—Clare, a capable daughter; Adrian, her ailing father; and Lisa, the younger sister with an adult’s spark—live a life that feels both ancient and uncannily familiar. Clare is played with quiet authority by Jacoba Williams; Adrian by Peter Clements reads as the stubborn, stubbornly fallible patriarch; Lisa, portrayed by Annabel Smith, is a teen with a peculiar blend of fearlessness and vulnerability. The production’s imaginative casting, including a fully grown actor in the role of a child, is one of its most deliberate anachronisms, underscoring the idea that the show’s questions aren’t about “historical accuracy” but about human nature across time.
From the start, the play dives into spectacle: Clare’s elk hunt culminates in a dramatic puppet moment that dominates the stage. A two-person task in reality becomes a showcase in theatre—an exhilarating reminder that powerful storytelling often depends on stunning visual metaphor. When a stranger named Greg—an engimatic, above-ground dweller—joins the scene, the cave dwellers see him as a frightening “s***head,” someone outside their world who nonetheless can speak English and tell stories of his own. The tension thickens as Clare is drawn to his narratives, only to respond with shocking violence: she kills him and consumes his brain.
The real arc begins with Greg’s widow arriving, along with her infant—an interloper and a mirror, depending on your reading. The play threatens to drift into a period-piece comedy of manners as the visitors unsettled the cave family’s routines and prejudices. Yet the drama quickly pivots toward tragedy, using the contrast between modern intrusions and primal living to probe deeper questions about language, ideology, and inheritance.
Nicholls, with designer Anna Reid and directors Aneesha Srinivasan and David Byrne (not the musician), makes the ancient setting glow with contemporary resonance. The show isn’t a white-noise exploration of primordial life; it’s a study of what still twists and binds us: how stories are told, how we name our “others,” and how beliefs travel through generations. While some audiences may fear the characters become symbols rather than people, the play grounds them with specifics and personality that keep them legible beyond allegory.
The dialogue is intentionally hybrid—crude and erudite at once, a collage of invented slang, blunt pragmatism, and lyrical glimpses. That blend suits the strongest performances: Adrian’s bluster and Lisa’s sharper-than-it-appears wit stand out, often delivering both levity and bite. The puppet work, guided by Scarlet Wilderink, remains expressive and effective, helping the audience read emotion when language is deliberately unsettled.
This production arrives during a high point for the Royal Court’s current season: it’s bold, tightly written, and theatrically substantial, offering more than a spectacle to chew on. The S***heads is not flawless—there are moments that might have benefited from a touch more lightness or clearer tonal balance—but it succeeds as a confident, provocative new work that sticks with you after the curtain falls.
The S***heads is playing at Jerwood Theatre Upstairs, Royal Court, through March 14.
