It is a slow, and sometimes difficult journey, to discover what “Salt-Water Moon’ is really about. But do not let that put you off. In this context, ‘slow’ is synonymous with ‘gently absorbing’ while ‘difficult’ can be paraphrased to mean ‘thoughtful’ or ‘intelligently imaginative’. The ambiguity is deliberate as the play may not be to everybody’s taste, but it kicks off 2023 with a blast of fresh air that wouldn’t be out of place on the ragged Newfoundland coast that is the setting for this engaging two-hander.
Set in the front porch of a coastal summer house in 1926, “Salt-Water Moon” is essentially a love story. Mary Snow (Bryony Miller) is star gazing through an eyeglass. Mim Houghton’s simple, festooned design evokes the starry, starry night, complemented by Neill Brinkworth’s lighting: a palette of blue and gray. It is not entirely clear whether Mary is expecting it, but a lilting voice – familiar to her – is heard in the distance, followed by the appearance of Jacob Mercer (Joseph Potter), Snow’s former sweetheart who abruptly left a year before to try his luck in Toronto. Mary initially resolves to remain true to her current fiancé, Jerome McKenzie, rightly betraying the hurt caused by Jacob’s desertion.
Potter plays Jacob with a permanent, cocksure grin that borders on arrogance: an arrogance that is belied by an assured, commanding and loveable performance. Potter’s natural charisma allows us to forgive the character’s sometimes dated sentiments and sentimentality. Equally, Miller rescues her character from the downtrodden path she could have taken, and we get a real sense that, whoever wins, she is quite capable of giving as good as she gets. There is a deep sense of rivalry between Mary’s unseen fiancé and Jacob, the exposition of which cleverly places the piece in the context of the first world war. Without lecturing us, the emotional and traumatic fallout that the Newfoundlanders suffered is poignantly understated, yet vividly described through David French’s dialogue.
The dialogue drives the play which, on paper, is a challenging script. Potter and Miller certainly rise to the challenge, tackling the dynamics (and the accents) with ease and skilfully playing with French’s words to strike the right levels of emotion. A talented duo, they possess the art of listening to each other and reacting. It is an intuitive and astute performance, full of realism. Peter Kavanagh directs with the same authenticity – subtle yet magical. There is a loving attention to detail that gives us the larger picture, just as the occasional silences reinforce the narrative.
Although the play ends with an unresolved outcome, we are left in little doubt as to the answer to the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ question. Nevertheless, we do leave the theatre wanting to know what happens next. This makes sense, as “Salt-Water Moon” is the third play in a quartet that features the two protagonists. Yet it has the fullness of a stand-alone piece of writing that explores the nature of love, betrayal, patriotism, loss, forgiveness and loyalty. It revisits a bygone age and harks back to a former and sometimes forgotten spirit of theatre; quietly asserting its relevance. A slow burner, but one that burns bright.
“It feels like it came from a young, angsty mind who hasn’t seen or read enough yet but who has a lot of exciting potential”
There are certain trademarks of a Philip Ridley story present, in some formation or other, in pretty much everything he writes: deep unexplained trauma, repression, mania, dark humour and unusual family dynamics. Normally these markers serve as a jumping-off point for nuanced and unexpected ideas- his seminal 1991 play, The Pitchfork Disney, for example, or Tender Napalm, staged only last year at the Kings Head Theatre. But in the case of The Poltergeist, they serve as the entire idea, with no nuance or unexpectedness in sight.
In fact, after the first minute of the script I know exactly what I’m in for: Artist, Sasha (Joseph Potter) tensely prepares to visit his brother for his niece’s birthday party which he desperately doesn’t want to attend, even with his calming, lovely partner Chet in tow. He’s already seething over his favourite face mask being empty, nastily predicting his boyfriend’s behaviours by counting down 3-2-1 before Chet will inevitably knock on the bathroom door to check he’s ok (what a monster). He’s cynical and mean in a way that leaves no room for sympathy, and which makes any ‘jokes’ completely not funny; unfortunate, given we’ve got to spend the next 85 minutes with him as a spitting, crazed wreck.
Don’t get me wrong, whilst we’ve seen the repressed trauma story a million times, I still think it’s relevant and meaty enough for us to see it some more. But 85 minutes of being glared and yelled at will not cut it.
Potter, being the only performer, is required to play multiple roles at this children’s party. He works exceedingly hard throughout, not only cranking up his already raging character from 10 to 11, but also switching in a group conversation between five or six characters. But with the combination of too many voices speaking in close proximity, and the characters being only vague, stereotyped outlines, it becomes exhausting and insipid to watch. And the big reveal of why Sasha is angry at his brother comes so late and is already so completely predictable that the relief it’s supposed to bring hardly touches the sides. If Potter hadn’t been directed to spit every word with intense hate from the very beginning, it’s possible the effect would have been different, but likely nominally so.
A set and costume consultant is listed in the programme, but there’s no staging, and Potter wears a single outfit throughout- a shiny shirt tucked into light blue jeans- which I hate. It takes until Sasha and Chet are in the car on a mobile phone for me to realise this is set in the present day, because he’s dressed like an early ‘80s George Michael.
If this were a young writer’s first foray, I would likely feel quite different. It feels like it came from a young, angsty mind who hasn’t seen or read enough yet but who has a lot of exciting potential. But it’s from a giant! Philip Ridley, for goodness’ sake! And in the context of his wildly impressive oeuvre, this is beyond disappointing.
