Directed by Prime Isaac and written by Emmanuel Akwafo and Emma Bakare, Beneath the Family Tree begins innocently enough. Three siblings — Kwame, Esther, and Ama — reunite in their childhood home to mark the anniversary of their mother’s death. But what starts as a dinner laced with grief and nostalgia quickly warps into something far more sinister. Secrets crawl out from beneath the table, and suddenly, you’re not just watching a family drama… you’re witnessing a slow, cerebral unravelling.
This is a three-hander, and honestly? These three handed it to us. Christie Fewry, Paul Chinkwende, and Esther Armah are phenomenal. It felt like watching an elite-level acting showdown — but instead of clashing, they elevated one another like theatre’s version of Avengers assembling.
Each actor had space to shine, and boy did they take it. The comedic timing was sharp, smart, and delightfully offbeat — like they’d been living with these characters for years. There were belly laughs, awkward silences that somehow said more than dialogue, and then — just like that — the switch flipped. The trio steered us from chuckles to chills with such finesse that you almost didn’t notice how dark it was getting… until you really noticed.
There’s only one set — a dining room — but trust me, they wring every drop of atmosphere out of it. With just a table, chairs, and two cleverly used curtains, the space transforms from familiar to foreboding.
And can we talk about the slow-motion effect they used to push through some scenes? It was like watching theatre in bullet time. Seriously impressive stuff — stylised but never showy, it served the story without pulling focus.
Beneath the Family Tree is one of those rare productions that feels light on its feet until it stomps on your chest. It’s laugh-out-loud funny, until it’s not. Then it’s uncomfortably intense, until it’s downright disturbing. The play teases the psychological and dips a toe into the supernatural — but never tells you exactly what’s real. That ambiguity? Delicious.
This isn’t a story about grief as a theme — it’s grief as a force, one that erodes trust, memory, and even your own sense of self. The pacing is tight, the dialogue is razor-sharp, and there’s a constant undercurrent of “What is actually happening here?” that keeps you fully locked in.
Sadly, it was only on for a week — but that’s not stopping me. I’ve already launched the unofficial campaign to bring it back (yes, I’ve spammed the writers’ comment sections). Join me. Sign the imaginary petition. We need a sequel. Or a prequel. Or a trilogy. I don’t care — I just need more.
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