“The play is a fiendishly clever piece of writing, served brilliantly by a formidable company”
They say it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for’, or ‘never trust a smiling cat’. Although not perfect in their analogy, it would be a similar phrase that describes how we feel walking away from Isley Lynn’s new play “The Swell”. Lynn’s writing is deceptively artful and astute, crafty yet judiciously crafted. She has that rare gift of duping us into thinking we are on safe ground, but then abruptly pulling that ground away from under our feet.
Conceived five years ago as part of Hightide’s summer writing festival, director Hannah Hauer-King has helped steer the piece towards its premiere at the Orange Tree Theatre. Her close attachment shows up in the crisp and sensitive staging of the text. Specifically played in the round there is nowhere really to hide; a challenge that is embraced. When not directly involved in in the action, the characters are still ever present; in shadows, watching, chanting or silently echoing the unfolding drama centre stage.
The “Swell” in the play’s title refers variously to the crest of a wave, the metaphorical rush of blood to the heart when in love, or the rising of a chorister’s chest. But also, to the swelling in the brain of a blood clot that can cause a stroke – which informs the bulk of the brilliantly executed shifts and twists that shape our understanding of the characters’ journeys; their motives, relationships and deceptions.
The action shifts between then and now. Annie and Bel are seemingly in love, preparing for their wedding. Until Flo – a childhood friend of Annie’s – crashes into their lives with predictable results. Suffice to say the wedding never takes place. Jessica Clark fires Flo’s spirit with an energy that races ahead of her bubbly free spirit. Saroja-Lily Ratnavel, as the young Annie, veils her emotional scar tissue with taut jitteriness that borders on violence, while Ruby Crepin-Glyne’s rootless Bel is caught in the slow dance of domesticity, aching for the tempo to change. Sophie Ward, Shuna Snow and Viss Elliot Safavi are the girls thirty years later. The extraordinarily accomplished performances tease out the intervening backstory with an understated intensity that boils beneath the gentle simmering. It feels like a caress, but all along it is scorching us.
The play is a fiendishly clever piece of writing, served brilliantly by a formidable company of actresses. You cannot avoid the fact that queerness runs through it like marble. However, like Brokeback Mountain for example, the fears and prejudice sadly still experienced are addressed without coming across as a piece of queer writing. Sexual identity is not being scrutinised, yet questions and assumptions of personal identity are thrillingly exposed and cannily upturned.
The literal and the figurative walk hand in hand. Imagine them walking through a rather predictable romcom, but then they turn a corner and are ambushed by a psychological thriller. One in which lies come in all shades of white, and betrayal can be the kindest act. The mood is underpinned, though not particularly enhanced, by Nicola T. Chang’s a Capella vocal score. The essence lies within the dialogue and the drama, and swells into a fine fusion of writing and performance.
“an interesting and atmospheric production with many thought-provoking moments”
It is hard to know what to make of Call Me Fury at first. The set (David Spence) emanates aspects of folk horror, with bright autumn leaves scattered against straw and an ominous-looking cross – a palette that works well against the performers’ stark pilgrim black (costumes by Helen Stewart). But when the cast snap into action with snippets of wry and ironic commentary, it becomes clear that something different is at work in this production. What emerges over the play’s 75 minute running time is an anthology-style study of witchcraft, which eventually spills over into a piece seeking to tackle the entrenched lies and elusive truths of women’s history.
The main narrative thread that binds the show together is the well-worn story of the Salem witch trials, carried out with much meta-referential criticism of Arthur Miller’s iconic version of the tale in The Crucible. All of the cast (Mairi Hawthorn, Gracie Lai, Olivia Kennett and Sasha Wilson) take on the familiar roles from history: Abigail – the young girl who cries ‘witch’; Samuel Parris – the quick-to-condemn preacher; Tituba – the slave so easily cast as a villain; and Sarah Goode – the poor and despised woman who first faces the accusatory finger, as well as many others. The writing (Sasha Wilson) adds new depth to the characters of Salem through monologues that speak to the power of past trauma and the alienating nature of fear.
However, apart from these few monologues, for the most part the cast play out the action of the trials and their consequences while jumping quickly between being participant and commentator, stopping suddenly to narrate historical backstory and offer their own conclusions and jokes. It is sometimes these parts that feel the least effective element of the whole ensemble – summoning up the over-exaggerated melodrama of the original legend only to pull it apart in asides. It is when the performers branch out into discussions of witchcraft more generally that the dialogue delivers up moments of insight.
Alongside the Salem witch trials, the audience is treated to brief vignettes that examine the fate of other witches through time – spanning from the ancient past to eerily close to the present. The staging is used the most cleverly in these quick scenes; slick body movements and vivid red cloth convey the Gothic pathos of these tales well. Folk songs also punctuate the drama, and these give the performers more time to shine. They keep the mood of the piece anchored when elsewhere the tone so often shifts, and bring a delightfully haunting magic to the stage.
The direction (a collaboration with Hannah Hauer-King) allows the cast a lot of movement so that nothing feels static and the audience is always engaged, but there are moments where some pauses or drawn-out moments of drama might be welcome, in order to let some of the script’s heavy subject matter penetrate more deeply. The lighting (Holly Ellis) is effective, but there are some hints at the start as to how it could have been used more throughout the show.
Altogether, a combination of compelling performances from the cast and a bold mixture of different ideas explored in the writing make Call Me Fury an interesting and atmospheric production with many thought-provoking moments.
