“It is engaging but teasing. Like an extended trailer. Or rather a pilot for a television drama series”
“I’m not always that easy to love” Kate explains to her girlfriend Liv. She then spends the next ninety minutes proving her point. If it stretches our patience, think what it is like for the three characters in “The Beach House”, whose entangled lives untangle before us over the course of a year or so. A year in which Kate gives birth to their baby daughter (the conception of which remains a mystery) after the couple move into a crumbling cottage by the sea. Kate’s sister, Jenny, comes and goes, upsetting the already precarious balance each time she arrives, and often more so when she leaves.
Many staple themes are touched upon in Jo Harper’s episodic play, that are unveiled in a series of snapshots. Short scenes. Vignettes of a particular moment in time. Like looking through a stranger’s photo album. We see the surface, and then rely on our imaginations to create the back story. Dramatically that is a blessing, but a burden for the performers who have little time to convince us of their complex characterisation. And they don’t always manage this in the time they have. But what they do have, in abundance, is the ability to draw you into the moment and offer more than a hint of what is going on. The cracks appear in the relationships like the leaks that spring in the roof of their rundown home.
Kathryn Bond is the pragmatic, uptight career woman. Bond cleverly plays the bully with a tender lack of self-awareness who can surprisingly elicit sympathy. The issue of post-natal depression is brushed aside and swept under her façade of impatience and overreaction. Apparently Kate has always been the controlling type, according to free spirited, little sister Jenny. Gemma Barnett has many layers through which to make her character’s voice heard but, despite her strong charisma and very watchable presence, the message becomes muffled. Gemma Lawrence’s Liv has the most light and shade. A blocked songwriter, she depends on Kate financially and emotionally. Lawrence convincingly portrays a divided soul. We marvel at her tolerance, and understand and excuse her indiscretions.
There is a lot going on here. All three characters are both culprits and victims. They are grappling with some hefty issues. Coercion, emotional abuse, infidelity, motherhood, sisterhood, abortion, betrayal, desire. It could be a whirlwind, but it is more fragile than that. Delivered gently, the real tensions are like a dark cloud on the horizon, and the performances are treading some way from the precipice.
Set in the round, Bethany Pitts staging is nevertheless starkly honest, reflected in Cara Evans’ sparse setting. The lens focuses on a single trunk centre stage, a Pandora’s Box – on which the lid is never fully lifted. A baby monitor relays some offstage dialogue, but again we expect more of a reveal from this technique. It is engaging but teasing. Like an extended trailer. Or rather a pilot for a television drama series. Now there’s an idea. The performances certainly do leave us wanting to know more. And what happens next. And what happened before. “Always leave them wanting more” they say. A fundamental rule that this company haven’t breached in “The Beach House”.
“takes audiences on an unpredictable and ultimately fulfilling journey to self-discovery”
“This Queer House” is a delightfully strange, unique take on the contact zones between queer lives, history, and the non-queer world at large. It (mostly) avoids trite observations and instead uses symbolism and striking imagery to make its point about space, place and identity.
In Oakley Flanagan’s explosive and challenging script, a young queer couple, Oli (Liv Ello) and Leah (Humaira Iqbal), move into a house inherited by a dead uncle. But the house has a history. A male builder (Lucia Young) is called in to do some renovation work and the disruption does more than just alter the house. In a series of scenes, the house’s legacy is unleashed, branding itself on the queer pair trying to live their new life together: the expectations of owning property, gender roles, and questions of conformity arise as the house slowly gets messier and messier. Will the couple survive this interrogation with the past? You’ll have to see it to find out.
Directed by Masha Kevinovna of the OPIA Collective, this piece’s strengths lie in the montage that takes up the second half of the production. Taking us through the history of the house in disconnected moments, sometimes with text, sometimes without, Kevinovna conjures the dreamy landscape of memory and history. Young, playing multiple roles, is stunning to watch, and here is given license to really go for it. From South London builder to rigid 50s housewife, Young is physically precise, loud, clear, in control and unpredictable. It’s their performance that keeps this play such an exciting watch.
As the piece slips away from the conventional opening few scenes, Ben Ramsden’s compelling, unsettling score is also given time to shine. Reminiscent of Bernard Herrman’s work on “Psycho”, Ben twists the action towards the horrific, indeed the melodramatic, but nonetheless keeps building up the feeling of dread. Cara Evans’ design is similarly effective. The house is white tape, with wooden window and door frames dotted in the corners. The tape poses as a boundary, but of course is easily traversed, altered. There is a real sense of cohesion between all aspects of this production which is what makes watching so strangely compelling.
Iqbal and Ello don’t quite gel as a couple on stage and both need to relax and settle into the characters more as the run goes on. That aside, this was an intriguing night at the theatre. By being daring with form and content, “This Queer House” takes audiences on an unpredictable and ultimately fulfilling journey to self-discovery.
