Social work play Shallow Slumber is disturbing, ugly and unmissable writes Drew Clode
Community Care has three pairs of free tickets to Shallow Slumber up for grabs - enter now
Social work is a complicated beast constantly questioning its identity, its place in the hierarchies (witness the birth struggles of The College of Social Work), and sometimes its very existence. Since it abandoned the use of `client' it has failed even to come up with a term to define the people it works with and alongside (`customer'? `user'? `citizen'?). Sometimes it fails to make it absolutely clear that it wants to exist as a separate, independent profession at all.
The extraordinary amount of good that it does, and has done, has persistently been either ignored by the wider world, or patronised by politicians who, even while praising the `caring professions' for their work have been sharpening knives to reduce their influence, their number, their pay, or all three. The last 20 years has seen it retrench, retrench, retrench until it barely seems a shadow of its former self. 
Social work centre stage
The profession has hung like a ghost around many of social worker/playwright Chris Lee's earlier plays. Notably in the Water Harvest and the more complicated The Ash Boy, he has drawn from client and profession alike to explore the darkest side of human relationships, the manipulation of identity and personality through some of the crudest power games that comprise social work's daily bread and butter.
Now, in Shallow Slumber* he has brought social work centre stage for the first time in all its nervous, self-conscious, awkward uncertainties - an earlier manifestation in The Humming Bird (1996) was more peripheral. However unmissable the play is - and it is unmissable - it is an ugly, disturbing experience.
Metronomic precision
Through social worker Moira and `crack whore' Dawn he tells, in his customary flashback style, the story of the death of Baby Amy (as the media would no doubt `dub' the victim), as well as the story of the relationship between professional and client. It ebbs and flows with near metronomic precision. First Dawn implores, Moira controls: then Moira falters, a harsher Dawn manipulates.
Mora tries to explain what drew her to social work, and is then ruthlessly taken apart by a Dawn who, despite her harshness, slips amid her invective to reveal the softer, `loster' child within. Even the author can't help sending Moira up in the scene where she `presents' for her first social work job.
What turns out to be her last one is summed up in Dawn's accusation hurled at Moira that all her training and listening and reflecting and empowerment are nothing more than devices "to stop you caring beyond five o'clock. None of it is real." All Moira can answer is: "It can never be the same as friendship." So what's it all about? Finally: "They knew I was scum. They wanted me to be scum. And here I am, scum."
Moira: "You'll get tired of thinking like this."
Dawn: "So are you trying to redeem me?"
Unravelling intentions
We know from the outset that the case has destroyed both of them. Only towards the end is the full horror of the child's death laid bare, while in between is a starkly staged, intensely worded, bleakly lit, unravelling of all those good intentions that make up the profession. That, and the dark, ambiguous uncertainties that haunt relationships with the people the profession serves.
Is Moira sometimes more caricature than character? Slightly, but sometimes it's hard to tell that from an authorial tongue-in-cheek. Is Dawn a bit more articulate than your average `crack whore'? You'll never know until you've met one. Those are finer details which arise only after the full impact of the drama has been fully ingested.
The author, Chris Lee, was once rung by a friend making a boring call to arrange something mundane - a tennis match; an evening in a pub. Picking up the phone he said in a characteristic flat monotone: "I'm sorry. One of my clients has just been murdered. Can I call you back?". That same tone of a raging calm stuck inside a controlled despair reverberates through every phrase in this play.
Superbly acted by Alexandra Gilbreath (Moira) and Amy Cudden - two actors who, like the author, deserve and will almost certainly achieve greater success - it's for everyone who's ever thought deeply about social work, its origins, its present and its future. If you can't see it once, see it twice!
* Shallow Slumber by Chris Lee, directed by Mary Nighy, is showing until February 18 at the Soho Theatre, box office 020 7478 0100
Drew Clode is policy/press adviser for the Association of Directors of Adult Social Services and is writing in a personal capacity