Behind the Illusions: Staging Trauma in The Disappearing Man

This October, Queen’s Theatre Hornchurch and HighTide present The Disappearing Man, a new drama from playwright Kenny Emson, setting live onstage magic against the bruised backdrop of the Essex coast. Directed by Alex Thorpe, the production follows Bazza Cadabra: a washed-up illusionist attempting a late-stage comeback two decades past his prime.

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Starring Matt Bardock and Debra Baker, the play opens in Hornchurch before embarking on a regional tour through November. And whilst it comes complete with card tricks and a bullet catch, the production aims to explore something more fragile: the cost of ambition and the wreckage of family ties.

Faded glamour and coastal pride

The setting is no accident. Emson grounds his narrative in the distinct identities of Jaywick, Clacton, and Frinton. It is a deliberate choice, employing local geography to examine broader national shifts and systemic neglect.

‘I’m from Essex, so I like to write about spaces that mean something to me,’ said Emson. ‘More than that though, the slightly faded glamour of places like Clacton offer a really interesting window into our country.’

He recalls the seaside of his youth, drawing a contrast with the coastal reality of today.

‘For me Clacton was this place of wonder when I visited as a kid,’ said Emson. ‘A place of magic and endless summers. But now it has a tinge of sadness about it. What caused that?’

But this isn’t just an excuse for nostalgia; it’s a demand for representation. Emson notes how these specific towns are too often sidelined in the national conversation.

‘Each of them has their own persona in how they are looked at (or sadly looked down on) by the press,’ said Emson. ‘I feel like drama needs to shine a light on these towns and the people who inhabit them more. It needs to say that their stories are just as important as people who live in major cities.’

The illusion of wellbeing

Magic features prominently on stage, yet its purpose extends beyond mere entertainment. Emson views sleight of hand as a metaphor for psychological concealment—drawing a line between the performer’s craft and the daily effort required to mask inner turmoil.

‘I think there’s a huge intersection between magic and mental health,’ said Emson. ‘We live in a society that has seen funding for mental health care slashed. For some reason we don’t think of it like every other illness.’

He points out that psychological struggle, if ignored, causes genuine damage—a danger compounded by its invisibility.

‘And I believe a lot of that is due to the fact you cannot see it, just like the sleight of hand in a good magic trick,’ said Emson. ‘The characters in this play haven’t just been hiding their skill as magicians from the audience; they have been hiding their trauma. Their mental wellbeing.’

Emson prepared for the script by burying himself in ‘incredibly dense blow-by-blow books on card tricks’. Yet to achieve this reality onstage, the production employs illusion designers John Bulleid and Gareth Kalyan.

‘Every time they show us a trick in rehearsals it stops the whole room and wows us all,’ said Emson. ‘It will be an incredible spectacle to see them within the show.’

Bardock, tasked with executing these tricks live, faces a steep learning curve.

‘I’ve got a fair few tricks to perform throughout the production. We have a bullet catch to do, some card tricks to do, some flowers to produce, and some juggling,’ said Bardock. ‘Trying to calibrate your brain ( at my age ) to learn new skills.. That you have to not just get away with but be proficient at is a big ask.’

Yet the actor embraces the prospect of live conjuring, chasing the unique high of a successful illusion.

‘Magic brings immediate uncensored response; you literally see the wonder on people’s faces,’ he said. ‘The proposition honestly scares and thrills me in equal measure. I can’t then think of a reason not to do it!’

Domestic baggage and grand ambitions

For director Alex Thorpe, the piece remains a grounded domestic exploration. The illusions simply heighten a universal narrative about the cost of chasing success.

‘The Disappearing Man is a family drama about what it means to be ambitious, what it means to follow our dream and, on the way, what we sacrifice,’ said Thorpe. ‘We’ve all had to say no to the best friend’s party because of work, or skipped a weekend, or cut short a holiday.’

At the centre of this sacrifice sits Wendy, Bazza’s ex-wife, played by Baker. Their reunion provides the necessary friction to cut through the illusionist’s bravado; a dynamic built on decades of shared history.

‘I think Wendy has known Barry for so long that she can truly be herself with him, which means being really direct with him,’ said Baker. ‘Also, she is sarcastic and rude to him at times. They know each other so well, so she knows all His tactics and knows how to respond to him.’

To forge this connection in rehearsals, the actors focused on the unwritten past.

‘We have started having conversations about when and where they met and their early life together,’ said Baker. ‘And as we gradually go through, the player will build a backstory that is truthful and believable to both of them. So we have a shared experience.’

Behind the performance stands a protagonist trapped by his own history. Bardock acknowledges the tragic trajectory inherent in Bazza’s final bid for the spotlight; a man chasing a ghost.

‘It’s all about hope for Barry, and there are moments in the play where he really leans into that hope,’ said Bardock. ‘It’s a tough one for Barry because he can’t really escape a sense of inevitability!’

Specificity breeds universality

While the play is embedded in the salt-licked tarmac of Essex, the creative team expects the narrative to travel well. By keeping the piece character-led, the underlying themes remain entirely borderless.

‘The fact that the show is about a magician adds theatricality, but the universality of the situation keeps us rooted to the story,’ said Thorpe.

Thorpe highlights the upcoming run at Blackpool Grand Theatre as a moment of particular thematic synchronicity for a play obsessed with the fading echoes of light entertainment.

‘There is a line that the central character says in this play: “as soon as the work dries up, or you get offered a fifty quid walk-on slot in Blackpool, you’ll be off again,”’ said Thorpe. ‘I think about the history of performance and magic in Blackpool… all the cabaret artists, singers, and performers who have flocked to Blackpool over the years – the history of that town will find huge resonance in this play.’

Thorpe anticipates similar resonance across the tour. He notes Peterborough shares the company’s ‘commitment to making work in the East’, whilst audiences in Guildford—where he previously toured a production of Handbagged—remain hungry for ambitious new work.

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And while there are plenty of ‘Easter eggs for an Essex audience’, the production intends to anchor its spectacularly-edged theatricality in the universal grind of the lives of working artists. 

‘What Kenny has written is absolutely a love letter to Essex, but also a love letter to ambition and a love letter to artists,’ said Thorpe. ‘In digging down into coastal Essex, I think you’d be hard-pushed wherever you’re from to not find parallels in the place you call home.’

Featured Image: L-R_ Debra Baker, Matt Bardock, David Angland – TDM at QTH – Photo_ Zbigniew Kotkiewicz

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The Disappearing Man plays Queen’s Theatre Hornchurch from 15 to 31 October, before touring to Blackpool, Guildford, and Peterborough through November. For tickets or more information, click here: https://queens-theatre.co.uk/shows-items/the-disappearing-man/