A Number, by Caryl Churchill, is a sci-fi drama of impenetrable complexity. It’s set in a future society where cloning has become possible for those on modest incomes. A Cockney father reveals to his grown-up son that he’s a replica of his older brother who died, aged four, in a car crash that also killed his mum. The son reacts with anger and bafflement. But Dad soothes him with happy news. The boy’s DNA was stolen by a gang of scientists who created 20 more copycat zombies, and these replicas are now scattered across the globe. Dad plans to cash in by suing the boffins for £5 million.
No sooner has Dad finished this yarn than he admits it’s untrue. The mother didn’t die in a car crash and the timeline he gave was incorrect. At which point the poor playgoer starts to wonder what fresh hoaxes are about to be pulled by this sloppy and amateurish dramatist.
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