FringeReview UK 2024
Cold Water
Tightrope Theatre
Genre: Contemporary, Drama, Mainstream Theatre, New Writing, Short Plays, Theatre
Venue: Park Theatre
Festival: FringeReview UK
Low Down
Last year, reviewing Philippa Lawford’s debut play Ikaria – whose tour ended at Park Theatre – I stated anything Lawford wrote would be of huge interest. Ikaria’s since been nominated for the prestigious Susan Smith Blackburn Prize, open to all Anglophone playwrights. And Lawford’s Cold Water, again directed by her, also premieres at Park Theatre till June 1st.
Still in her twenties but vastly experienced, it’s going to be exciting to see where Lawford breaks out to next.
Written and Directed by Philippa Lawford, Producer and Associate Director Izzy Parriss, Translator of excerpt from The Seagull, Ilona Kohanchuk, Lighting Designer Ed Saunders, Composer Laurie Blundell, Intimacy Director Stella Moss, Stage Manager Eleanor Birdsall-Smith
Till June 1st
Review
“I don’t agree with your theory. That people do what they want” says Teaching Assistant Emma. “What do you want?” asks drama teacher Matt.
Last year, reviewing Philippa Lawford’s debut play Ikaria – whose tour ended at Park Theatre – I stated anything Lawford wrote would be of huge interest. Ikaria’s since been nominated for the prestigious Susan Smith Blackburn Prize, open to all Anglophone playwrights. And Lawford’s Cold Water, again directed by her, also premieres at Park Theatre till June 1st.
Lawford – who founded Tightrope Theatre in 2017 while still at university – writes out of experience in elliptical realist strokes. Ikaria dealt with an Oxford student relationship challenged by depression.
Over 80 minutes Cold Water takes us to a Harpenden school. 35-year-old RADA graduate Matt (Jolyon Coy) has given up on acting, though friends with classmates enjoying stellar careers. About to cast a school Chekhov Seagull, he’s bemused by the arrival of TA Emma (Julia Pilkington); whom he takes for a student.
Emma indeed studied at this school, but returned from Glasgow University, where she lacked courage to apply to drama school, unlike a friend who egged her on and is now successful. Emma’s 22, lost, back home with her parents; with a hunger she’s not dared act on.
Soon Matt sees her potential, starts giving her audition lessons, and later knows exactly where she might audition: that stellar friend would love her for a TV part. He’s not bluffing either and he’s not wrong.
Matt’s no predatory Tregorin though – quite the reverse – and he’s married to determined older Katya with a Cambridge PhD who knows when she wants: a child in the autumn, to maximise scholarship potential. They’re having difficulties conceiving. The subtext’s clear: Matt’s been recruited for his handsome, intelligent genes. It’s no love match.
And Emma declares Nina like all women in The Seagull irritate her. Nevertheless even with Matt playing his old drama school role of Kostya to Emma’s Nina, there’s a thrill. And Emma’s hungry for many things.
Soon Matt’s teaching her everything he knows; Emma’s life shifts from numbness to exaltation. But there’s that internal saboteur. Self-taping for an audition she monologues Kostya, but trips over “Maupassant” and gives up.
Dialogue’s clipped but also naturalistic, spooling into repeated words. It’s also witty and flirty. Emma surprises Matt by confessing to a short fling with an old schoolfriend: “Do I come across as a virgin?” “Honestly I hadn’t thought about it.” “Probably for the best.”
It also moves profoundly. Emma, holidaying with her parents in the Lake District confesses about her mother: “When I’m walking with her the whole time I’m imagining I’m with someone else.” “Who do you imagine?” “You, sometimes… Or I’m onstage.”
Sometimes? Lawford has Matt quote Stanislavsky. It arises naturally out of their work on Chekhov, and using his Method they discuss each character’s motive. What do they want? It’s clear Emma wants two things so much she’s near to self-sabotage and inertia and can’t let herself say yes. And Matt. What does he really want? He’s already given up something. What if there’s something else?
Nevertheless Emma’s clear-sighted. She refuses projection. “I don’t want to be you. I’m trying to work out how to avoid becoming you.”
Coy’s a model of troubled professional warmth and red lines, bringing himself up short. Pilkington’s touchingly gauche Emma gradually builds to near rapture with flickers of throwback to her shrinking self. Both are riveting.
Ed Saunders’ lighting plays morning to night evocatively. Laurie Blundell’s composition radiates sweetly bitter-sweet piano-riffs. Tightrope’s stage design, from Russian carpet to stuck-on photos manages naturalism in economic strokes.
This tender, self-consciously witty take on Chekhov is absolutely authentic Lawford too. If Ikaria referenced The Odyssey, it’s no less naturalistic to suffuse a play with Chekhovian restraint and yet seem fresh, exciting, heart-aching and durable.
Still in her twenties but vastly experienced, it’s going to be exciting to see where Lawford breaks out to next.
