Prolific writer Simon Stephens and director Katie Mitchell’s first collaboration, Wastwater, is an emotionally charged triptych which blurs the lines between realism and surrealism as the pair delve into the darkest corners of the human psyche.
Set on the edges of Heathrow – not in a Lake in Cumbria as the name somewhat cryptically suggests – three short acts each centre on a different couple, all linked together through a series of tenuous tie-ins that become apparent as the night draws on, with a common theme of abuse weaving its way through each story.
In a farmhouse on the edges of the plot planned to be razed for the airport’s third runway, foster mother Frieda and 22-year-old foster child Harry spend their final minutes together before he leaves for a new life in Canada. In a soulless hotel room, damaged Lisa and Mark, an art teacher way out of his depth, are on the brink of infidelity. Finally, in a sinister warehouse Frieda’s ex-foster child Sian hands over a trafficked child to Mark’s former teacher, Jonathan, in a brutal deal that leaves your heart pounding.
While central themes run through each story, Wastwater is a mystery. The characters exist only in the moment, with no real context or history provided to help the audience come to any firm conclusions. Questions are left provocatively unanswered at every point, culminating in the unsettling third act when Jonathan hands over £30,000 for a girl whose future is uncertain. Is she joining a family or is this transaction fulfilling a more sinister desire?
Stephens’s characters are also designed to shock. While Linda Bassett and Tom Sturridge start the evening off on a quiet note with their touchingly awkward relationship, policewoman Lisa (Jo McInnes) shows just how unpredictable people can be, confessions tumbling out of her mouth with uncomfortable bluntness, peeling her conservative façade away to reveal someone who made sickening decisions to feed a destructive addiction.
Leaving the most sinister to last, Amanda Hale gives a brutally raw performance as the damaged Sian who verbally beats the shifty Jonathan (Angus Wright) into a pulp before handing over a child who may or may not become a victim of the abuse that we are led to believe Sian herself may have suffered.
While Mitchell’s trademark experimental directing style is noticeably muted, she proves that she can still create vivid theatre concentrating solely on the characters and Stephens’s sharp words. Lizzie Clachan’s design provides perhaps the most impressive aspect of the production, with the stage dramatically transformed for each act in a matter of moments.
Wastwater is not comfortable viewing and deals with characters in their most vulnerable and often dehumanised states. Interrupted only by the steady flow of airplanes above them, which create pregnant pauses as the characters are rendered unable to speak over the deafening noise, each character is on the tipping point of a change that you can barely bring yourself to witness.
CM