It starts with a room, covered in sheets, frozen in a pocket of time. Actors dressed in lace lie on the  floor and talk as the audience files in. The stage is a portal not yet opened, a mirror-like surface  waiting to be uncovered. There is beauty in displacement: staring into a limbo between past and  present, remaining both aware of your presence as an audience member and yet getting taken away by the narrative unfolding. 

This exact feeling is what makes Numa and Karl: The Extraordinary Man That He Was—written by Em Chandler—such a unique experience. The play premiered on the 28th of August 2025, at the Blue Stone Church Arts Space. The stage is unusual: there is no distinct line between where the audience begins and where the play starts. This borderless existence in itself encapsulates the play. Never does it fully engross you. It enjoys reminding you that the stage is filled with bodies only temporarily possessing the minds of characters. 

Set in mid-19th century Germany, this play captures the five years of Karl Heinrich Ulrich’s life leading up to the trial of the Assembly of German Jurists on the 29th of August 1867. The start is abrupt. Voices come from left and right, until one voice unites in its contextualisation of the protagonist. Doing this, the director Alanah Guiry breaks the boundary between stage and audience further. Those presumed to be crew members reveal themselves as part of the cast.

The set must be expanded upon, as it cannot be put aside, only to be brought up towards the end of  this review. How beautiful is the set design of Leonie Leonida (She/Her)! Though the play never  leaves the room—and all objects on the stage remain—the way that the room is used to create a  multitude of spaces (from Karl’s room, to a courtroom, to a prison) is astonishing. Furniture is moved around to redesign spaces, create character hierarchy, foreshadow or imply moments that cannot be verbally told. At the end of the play, as Karl becomes encircled by family members, Numa towering behind him, my eyes could not be torn away from the beauty of the scene, the creative use of the space and the brilliant direction.

This is unbelievably complimented by Hannah Willoughby’s (They/Them) lighting design. By having the play lit predominantly in warm colours, cool tones emphasise moments of a sudden change. Where actors remain still within a frame, lighting continues a movement which reminds the audience that nothing can ever be fully still. Time is always moving. Sound and lighting go hand-in-hand to create this. Lore Burns (They/Them), the musical director, continuously creates sound within the play, filling any pockets of silence with more noise. Therefore, when silence does eventually come, it feels impactful. This is a moment worth sitting in; worth experiencing within the present moment. Silence, in this play, is key.

This is most beautifully done through Guiry’s direction of the character of Numa (Nicholas J. Carr) (They/He). It is Numa who most often breaks the fourth wall, and involves the audience. They even notice the brilliant cello player Claudia Kuner (She/Her), who beautifully completes the show. Despite having an entirely solo performance, she is able to fill a silence with a cacophony of sound, creating her own, private orchestra. Whereas the rest of the characters mostly remain within the atmosphere of the 19th century, Numa exists in the space between. 

One cannot mention Carr without also giving compliments to Sarah Hartnell in the role of Karl Henrich Ulrichs himself (He/She/They).  Where Carr excels in bringing joy and laughter to the crowd, Hartnell thrives in emotionally grounding the scene. This strength is especially seen towards the middle of the show, at the pinnacle of all action. This phenomenal casting gives a balance to the play and, of course, the real Karl Ulrichs  himself. Their performances are only complete when together. 

The Ensemble, too, is phenomenal. Conagh Punch (They/Them), Emerson Hansford (They/Them),  Kyle Cuthbert (He/They), Tristan Sicari (He/Him); I cannot pick a name to individually praise.  Punch’s charm in the roles of Tewes and Christian was equally as captivating as Hansford’s  desperation in Ulrike, Cuthbert’s timidity in Eduard or Sicari’s fierceness in the Chairman. If Carr and Hartnell make Karl Henrich Ulrichs whole, the other four serve as the pillars on which the play rests.

Numa and Karl is not merely a biopic. It is an artwork in itself, using history not only to educate the  audience about a man who began the first LGBTQIA+ rights movement, but to remind that sexuality has been a topic of discussion for longer than history acknowledges. Stonewall was not the first moment where the rights of the LGBTQIA+ came into light, because even in the mid-19th century there was a man who had already begun the movement for a long and painstaking battle for the rights of the queer community; one voice uniting into many.