To date, theatre company Pentabus has concentrated on touring their productions to rural venues, so Driftwood, produced in conjunction with ThickSkin, is a rare visit to urban theatres.
Tim Foley’s examination of coping with grief and guilt and the enduring impact of self-deception ambitiously merges the political with the intensely personal. Having built a career in Manchester, Mark (James Westphal) returns home to Seaton Carew in the North East where his father is gravely ill. However, his father is a compulsive teller of tall tales and, in response to having one them challenged, insulted Mark’s sexuality, which led to him leaving home. The lingering trauma makes Mark incapable of actually attending his father’s deathbed.
However, Mark’s brother Tiny (Jerome Yates) is a daddy’s boy and, rather than rejecting the tall tales, embraces them to the extent he plans to put their father to rest by way of a Viking funeral pyre. Mark becomes increasingly concerned that Tiny’s inability to accept the reality of the situation is not limited to planning their father’s funeral.
In an effort to stimulate the local economy, Seaton Carew has been designated a Freeport, and the dredging necessary to allow larger vessels to use the seaport has thrown up polluted debris which has poisoned the marine life; although Tiny prefers to believe the official statement, the cause was algal bloom. An increasingly obsessed Tiny is convinced he needs to summon a supernatural being, The Mariner, from the sea to carry away their father’s soul. The ritual Tiny imagines must be undertaken involves risking life and limb in a particularly treacherous part of the beach.
The stage set (by Lulu Tam, Neil Bettles and Tom Robbins) is deceptively simple; pieces of driftwood are manipulated by the cast to become jetties or derelict vessels. For once, however, projected backdrops do far more than just add scenic flourishes. Sarah Readman’s videos have a washed-out quality, so the views of the derelict harbour and empty beach are grim, supporting Mark’s decision to leave a town in decline. The projections ensure the final apocalyptic confrontation with the mystical creature matches the tempest of the characters’ emotions. Even the surtitles are used to great effect—the words on the screen blow away like dust as Tiny announces his plan to turn their father’s body into ash.
Despite the high emotions generated by the script, both actors offer performances of great restraint, resisting the urge to go over the top and wave arms and point fingers. Mark is guiltily aware his brother has the moral high ground, having cared for their father as his health declined. James Westphal shows a loosening of Mark’s tension and even a degree of relief as he avoids having to confront his father and feels he can repay his obligation to Tiny by using his professional skills to organise the funeral.
Jerome Yates, however, allows no such relief. It is apparent Tiny’s intellectual and emotional development has been restricted as he has been drawn into his father’s delusional view of life. Yates maintains an exasperating and even creepy sense of serenity, believing he alone is correct and everyone else is wrong no matter the evidence to the contrary.
Skilfully directed by Neil Bettles and Elle While, the relationship between the brothers becomes the perfect depiction of trying to put right past wrongs and being frustrated at every turn. Thankfully, the script also finds humour in the grim absurdity of the situation. Recalling childhood friends Donny and Ronnie, Mark wonders if their mother’s name is ‘Connie’, to which Tiny, deadpan, replies of course not—it is Bonny.
The high quality of Driftwood will make urban audiences hopeful ThickSkin and Pentabus make a habit of touring beyond their usual rural venues.