29/09/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Hurrah! A Play, A Pie and A Pint is back! There’s something so alluring – almost illicit – about sneaking in a bit of culture in the middle of a working day; surely this is how all lunch hours should be?

This new season kicks off with The Whaler’s Wife, written by Izzy Gray and directed by Beth Morton. Set in 1820s Orkney (Gray hails from the islands), the script is arguably too complex for its one-hour running time. As the play opens, we are introduced to three women whose husbands’ whaleboat, The Diamond, is missing. Marion (Joyce Falconer), a no-nonsense matriarch to whom the others usually defer, is all for carrying on as normal, but Elsie (Shawney Henderson) is keen to write the men off as dead. She’s glad the boat hasn’t returned; she’s not a fan of married life. Meanwhile Bess (Emma Tracey), who has a lot to say about the whalers’ ethics, is clearly nursing a secret…

Woven into this framework is a tantalising mix of folklore, tradition, sea shanties and social history. We learn about the pitiless nature of the women’s lives, as they scrape a living from the sea and land, gutting mackerel and smuggling booze. The men have an even harder job – and it’s brutalised them. Bess deplores not only the whalers’ bloodlust, but also their new habit of seizing ‘wives’ from the lands they visit. It’s all fascinating – but a lot to take in. The unfamiliar (to me) Orcadian dialect lends the piece both lyricism and authenticity, but it does make it harder to follow the – at times literally – labyrinthine plot.

The Whaler’s Wife is handsomely staged, Gillian Argo’s set and costume design belying the limited PPP budget. The songs (arranged by Bethany Tennick) somehow manage to be both haunting and rousing, reinforcing the contradictions at the heart of the story: the poetry and savagery of island life.

Morton’s direction works well: the play ebbs and flows like the tide, from raucous to thoughtful, horror to hope. I’m left with the abiding image of billowing sheets, concealing and then revealing. I’m hooked, but also frustrated. This needs to be a full-length play to give the myriad ideas more breathing space.

3.4 stars

Susan Singfield