By Dorian Winter
I have always been captivated by the story of Laika, the Soviet space dog launched into orbit aboard Sputnik 2 in 1957. Laika, as many know, did not survive the mission. Over the years, her story has inspired poets, artists, and now, playwrights, to explore themes of innocence, loyalty, and the moral complexity of human ambition. When I heard that UDS was staging a play titled Laika, Moon Dog, my interest was immediately piqued.
Written and directed by the prodigious Priya Wilson, Laika, Moon Dog transcends the technicalities of a space-bound plot to deliver a deeply poignant meditation on love, loss, and the ties that both tether and separate us. While the moon mission drives the narrative, it is the intimate, often heartbreaking relationships at the heart of the story that stay with you long after the curtain falls.
Acting: Emotionally charged and remarkably authentic
At the core of Laika, Moon Dog lies its extraordinary performances. The emotional weight of the production rests squarely on the shoulders of its two leads, Matilda (Maya Djurdjevic) and Grace (Ella McGuire), sisters whose relationship anchors the narrative. Right near the end of Act 1, we are presented with a gut-wrenching scene: Grace’s quiet and untimely death, which sets the stage for Matilda’s journey through grief and unresolved love for her kind sister. The actress playing Matilda commands the stage with a raw, understated intensity, embodying a character torn between the pain of her sister’s absence and the regret of never having fully expressed her love.
What makes Matilda’s arc so captivating is how the actress deftly navigates the subtleties of grief—her performance is never overwrought, but rather laced with quiet desperation and moments of vulnerability. As she embarks on the moon mission, it’s as if Matilda is carrying her sister’s ghost with her, both literally and figuratively. The interplay between her simmering sorrow and her outward resolve is a masterclass in restraint.
By the time we reach Act 2, the emotional payoff is immense. Matilda’s ultimate fate—her own death during the moon mission—leads to a stunningly rendered afterlife reunion with Grace. The chemistry between the sisters, palpable from the beginning, reaches its climax in this hauntingly beautiful scene. Their reunion feels like a cathartic release, both for the characters and the audience, as Matilda finally finds the resolution she has longed for. The authenticity of their bond—despite the surreal setting—makes this moment all the more powerful. It is not simply a depiction of reconciliation, but a reflection of the deep, unspoken connections that linger between loved ones, even after death.
Wassily, the play’s nerdy assistant (portrayed by the delightful Tom Hemery), provides a stark contrast to Matilda’s sombre intensity. His charming awkwardness could easily slip into caricature, but the actor infuses him with surprising depth. Wassily’s subtle facial expressions, his halting gait, and his eagerness to please make him endearing without feeling overly comedic. His relationship with the lieutenant Maxim (played by Sam Iles) —another quietly fascinating figure—creates one of the play’s most delightful dynamics. The lieutenant’s reserved nature, marked by his habitual tie-adjusting tic, contrasts with Wassily’s bashful enthusiasm, yet their interplay is layered with unspoken affection and complexity.
Chemistry and ensemble – A must see
If the lead performances anchor the emotional heart of Laika, Moon Dog, the ensemble provides the atmospheric lifeblood that propels the production into something greater. The ensemble is used sparingly but with significant impact, almost as a silent chorus that shifts from scene to scene, accentuating the emotional undercurrents. Their presence never overshadows the central characters, but rather enhances the emotional landscape.
In Act 1, as Grace succumbs to illness, the ensemble’s coordinated movements—eerie and ghostlike—surround the sisters in a way that feels both surreal and tangible. They seem to embody the inevitability of Grace’s passing, representing the weight of Matilda’s unspoken guilt and regret. As Matilda embarks on her mission in Act 2, the ensemble takes on a new role, reflecting the psychological toll of the journey. Their collective movements mirror the isolation, confusion, and emotional fatigue experienced by the crew, particularly Matilda. At times, it feels as though the ensemble is physically manifesting the characters’ subconscious fears and desires, blurring the lines between the tangible and the abstract.
The cast’s chemistry is evident not only in the quieter, more intimate moments, but in the production’s larger, ensemble-driven scenes. The relationship between Wassily and the lieutenant serves as a wonderful example of this interplay. Their opposing energies—the lieutenant’s stoicism against Wassily’s nervous exuberance—play off each other in a way that feels dynamic and unforced. The actors navigate this relationship with such ease and trust that even their most understated exchanges feel loaded with emotional subtext.
Costume and lighting: A masterclass in mood and memory
The costumes in Laika, Moon Dog play a vital and understated role in mirroring the emotional descent of the characters, as well as the broader themes of the play. From the beginning, clothing serves not only as a reflection of individuality but as a visual representation of the inevitable shift from ambition to resignation, and ultimately, to death.
Matilda’s transformation is especially striking. She begins in outfits that exude youthful ambition and optimism, bright and full of promise as she sets out on her mission. However, as the weight of the moon mission begins to take its toll and the narrative shifts toward her inevitable fate, her clothing evolves. By the time she dons the uniform of the cadets—blue tanks and white pants—there’s a sense of chilling uniformity. In these final scenes, the once-individualistic Matilda is absorbed into the collective, a visual signifier of her surrender to the mission’s deathly grip. The uniform, which initially holds a sense of pride and purpose, becomes a stark reminder of their shared destiny—a loss of individuality as they all face the same tragic end.
Grace’s costumes present a stark contrast. She begins the play adorned in angelic, flowing garments that evoke a sense of warmth and life. However, after her death, these same gentle colors become haunting. The lightness of her attire, once comforting, now casts a ghostly pall over her presence, lingering like a reminder of what was lost. Her hauntingly soft hues stand in opposition to the increasingly dark tones worn by the living characters, further cementing her role as a tether to the afterlife.
Wassily, the endearing assistant, is clothed in soft pastels during the early part of the play, reflecting his light-hearted, almost naïve view of the world. His gentle appearance contrasts with the more serious nature of the crew, adding layers to his character. But as the mission spirals toward catastrophe, even Wassily’s wardrobe darkens, shifting to more muted, somber shades. By the end, the entire management crew, including Wassily, is draped in stark monochrome black and white, their uniforms reflecting the utter stripping away of hope, individuality, and levity.
Perhaps most striking is the deliberate uniformity introduced as the cadets don their blue tank tops and white pants. Once vibrant individuals with dreams of exploration, they are reduced to mere players in a tragic fate. The uniform, rather than creating solidarity, serves as a symbol of their inevitable end—a chilling reminder that no matter their individuality, they are all bound to the same grim destiny.
The lighting in Laika, Moon Dog plays a vital role in shaping the emotional atmosphere, subtly guiding the audience through the psychological depth of the play. It acts as a silent storyteller, elevating key moments without distracting from the performances.
One of the most poignant uses of lighting occurs during Grace’s death in Act 1. As she breathes her last, the stage is bathed in a soft, pulsating blue and white light, mimicking the rhythm of her final breaths. This “breathing” effect adds a tender, fragile quality, creating an intimate connection between the scene and the audience. The ethereal light makes Grace’s death feel both haunting and peaceful, heightening the emotional impact on Matilda. In sharp contrast, the use of harsh red lighting during the lieutenant’s nightmare sequence jolts the audience into psychological chaos. The red hues and stark shadows visually distort the space, amplifying his inner turmoil and creating an oppressive atmosphere. This dramatic shift effectively conveys his internal breakdown, disorienting both the character and the audience.
Throughout the production, lighting distinguishes between the grounded reality of life and the surreal experience of death and memory. Warm, golden tones light up the early scenes, representing the optimism and camaraderie of the cadets. In contrast, Matilda is often bathed in cooler blue light following Grace’s death, reflecting her growing emotional distance and grief. Projections of childhood scenes between Matilda and Grace add a subtle layer of memory and loss, creating a visual bridge between past and present. These fleeting moments evoke the emotional weight of Matilda’s unresolved love for her sister, further intensifying her journey.
Set and props: Minimalism with maximum impact
The set design in Laika, Moon Dog is deceptively simple, relying on a few key elements to evoke a variety of settings and emotional states. A single fold-out couch transforms seamlessly from a shared bed to a hospital bed, and later into a seat aboard the moon mission. This minimalism works to the play’s advantage, allowing the emotional weight of each scene to take precedence over the physical space. The fluid transitions between set pieces—whether evoking the intimacy of a shared moment or the vastness of space—enhance the dreamlike quality of the production.
The most visually stunning moment arrives at the end of the play, when the stage transforms into the moon’s surface. Sparkly fabric is unfurled across the floor, catching the light and creating a shimmering, ethereal effect that mimics both the moon’s terrain and the swirling fog of memory and loss. This simple yet evocative design choice reinforces the thematic tension between reality and the surreal, making Matilda’s final moments feel both monumental and deeply personal.
Music, ambience, and the echoes of space:
The sound design in Laika, Moon Dog is an integral part of the play’s emotional and atmospheric landscape, masterfully used to heighten the audience’s experience and underscore the contrasting themes of the narrative. Sound becomes both a vehicle for emotional tension and a tool for subtle juxtaposition, guiding the audience through moments of celebration, grief, and anxiety.
One of the most striking uses of sound comes near the end of Act 1 during the “going to the moon” party. Upbeat, celebratory music fills the room as the cadets revel in their impending mission, creating a vibrant, almost euphoric atmosphere. However, this lively soundscape stands in stark contrast to Matilda’s sombre presence as she silently mourns her sister’s death. The upbeat music, paired with Matilda’s subdued body language and cool-toned costuming, highlights the disconnect between her internal grief and the external celebration. The ghostly presence of Grace, dressed in white, lingers on stage, adding an eerie layer to the scene. This juxtaposition of sound and emotion is expertly crafted, reminding the audience that life continues even in the face of personal tragedy.
Throughout the play, sound also plays a key role in evoking a sense of unease and anxiety. The faint whirring of machinery and the whispers of transmissions are present both at the start and end of the play, creating a full-circle effect. These sounds—subtle yet persistent—act as a constant reminder of the looming mission and the technological confines that surround the characters. The whirring, in particular, gradually builds a sense of unease, serving as an almost imperceptible undercurrent of tension that intensifies as the play progresses.
The play’s use of sound is never heavy-handed but always deliberate. Whether it’s the celebratory music that contrasts with Matilda’s mourning or the quiet whirring that reflects the characters’ growing anxiety, the soundscape enhances the emotional depth of the production. It pulls the audience into the psychological space of the characters, deepening their connection to the story and amplifying the weight of each moment.
Final thoughts
Laika, Moon Dog is a masterclass in how theatre can tackle the vastness of human experience while retaining a sense of intimacy. Priya Wilson’s direction and the cast’s nuanced performances breathe life into a production that lingers long after the final bow. Through its exploration of love, loss, and the human desire for connection—even across the void of space—the play resonates deeply, inviting the audience to reflect on their own relationships and regrets.
In a world where missed opportunities and unspoken emotions often define our lives, Laika, Moon Dog reminds us of the power of reconciliation—whether it be with others or with ourselves. This production is, without question, a must-see for anyone who seeks theatre that speaks to the heart as much as it does to the mind.
Laika, Moon Dog is on at the Dolphin Theatre from 26-28 September.
5/5 Pelicans!