“Taylor and Kimaryo are convincing and honest enough together”
The tragic themes in Philip Ridley’s one act two-hander, first produced in 2000 and regularly revived since, sadly retain their relevance today. This new production is set in a rather timeless era though with old-fashioned decor (and no evidence of any mobile phones) so we could be watching a period piece set anytime from the 1980s onwards.
The action takes place in a shabby room in East London with a ghastly red fitted carpet, whitewashed windows, peeling wallpaper, and a cruddy-looking sofa. There is a scattering of boxes around the floor, evidencing that Anita (Kerrie Taylor) has not yet finished moving in. A naked light bulb hangs from the ceiling. (Set & Costume Designer Alice Carroll).
Forced out of her previous home by gossiping neighbours, Anita is looking for a new start. But a boy who she has seen loitering near her old house, has now followed her here and she is curious to find out why. Davey (Brandon Kimaryo) – full of nervous energy, twisting and turning, unable to keep still – walks in through her open door and admits to having found the dead body of Anita’s son Vince, killed in a homophobic attack in an unsavoury disused station toilet. He now cannot unsee what he saw and wants to talk about Vince to make him “walk out of his head”.
Anita is full of suppressed anger. Her mood is volatile, quick to pique. Her voice rises to a shriek and then falls again to a whisper. She suspects Davey of involvement somehow in Vince’s death, certainly he knows more than he is saying. Facing off across the room, two metres apart, they interrogate each other. He wants to know all about the boy. She needs to know details of his death. When they encroach closer, Davey towers over her. She gives him cigarettes and gin. He gives her a foot massage and dope.
Together they replay what occurred on the fateful day, pacing out the action across the living room carpet. Director James Haddrell moves the couple around the room naturally and is not afraid to have them sit in silence when the conversation dries up. Little by little, they give up bits of their own story to learn something new from the other. But Davey has the more to explain and when he removes his black hoodie prior to an explosion of visceral grief, his smart shirt below is drenched in sweat.
The closing scene as Davey attempts to assuage his own feelings of guilt might have been a stretch for a young actor but Kimaryo (making his professional debut whilst still at drama school) nails it totally in a masterful display. Kerrie Taylor performs well too, collapsing to the floor in her own moment of despair. The complete story is finally told – tragic, sickening, and in parts somewhat implausible – but Taylor and Kimaryo are convincing and honest enough together that the action grips without slipping into soap opera.
“Mahy’s performance perfectly condenses an unstable and volatile mix of anger, vulnerability, belligerence and dependence”
Philip Ridley is a playwright whose finger is always on the pulse, and even though “Vincent River” was written at the birth of this century it has lost none of its punch. Unfortunately, this has as much to do with how slowly society changes as it does with the timeless quality of the writing. During the last five years, homophobic hate crime has reportedly been rising. What is seldom reported is the aftermath: the personal story that this play heart-breakingly throws into the spotlight.
Anita is in her new flat, having been forced to flee her previous home. A youth has wandered in through the door into her living room. He is Davey, wearing a black hoodie, a black eye and an even darker obsession with Anita whom he has been stalking for months; ever since Anita’s son, Vincent, was murdered by thugs in a disused railway station’s toilet. Over the next eighty minutes, these two characters fight to understand themselves and each other. Played out in real time the audience are drawn in so much that we feel like the third character in this drama.
The rhythm and melody of Ridley’s dialogue is a gift for the two actors, and under the assured direction of Robert Chevara, the pulse never wavers. Thomas Mahy plays Davey like a dangerous dog whose threat of menace and aggression can be swiftly curbed with a flash of Anita’s bared teeth. Mahy’s performance perfectly condenses an unstable and volatile mix of anger, vulnerability, belligerence and dependence. Yet the undoubted force that drives this piece is the charismatic Louise Jameson, with her matchlessly poignant portrayal of a mother suffering her worst nightmare. A naked study of grief for the loss of a son that is believable throughout. Her raw pain is the skeleton upon which she drapes cloaks of humour, scorn and even tenderness. We are riveted right up to the climax when she finally rips through her armour with a blood curdling howl.
Jameson and Mahy circle each other like wild cats on Nicolai Hart Hansen’s simple and effective set that conveys Anita’s new flat with just a sofa, some unpacked boxes and quite a few opened bottles of gin. But beneath the humdrum stillness of the surroundings runs the vicious undercurrent of Vincent’s murder. The overall effect is hypnotic and electrifying. This is one of Ridley’s more accessible scripts, rooted in reality rather than veering off into the surreal promiscuity or gothic gratuitousness he is known for. But it is no less provocative – in fact its naturalism strengthens the message. The honesty of these performers makes us question the honesty with which we lead our own lives. Truth hurts – but we need that pain in order to start the healing process.
