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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Entertainment
Anya Ryan

Swim, Aunty, Swim! review – powerful tale of women healed by water in an empty pool

Hydro therapy … Evelyn Duah, Karlina Grace-Paseda, Anni Domingo and Sam Baker-Jones.
Hydro therapy … Evelyn Duah, Karlina Grace-Paseda, Anni Domingo and Sam Baker-Jones. Photograph: Nicola Young

They say water has the power to heal. So, in Siana Bangura’s new play, three west African women dealing with grief and change turn up to their local pool in Coventry for weekly swimming classes. Ama has convinced her two friends from church, Blessing and Fatu, to “think about what’s good” for their bodies and give lessons a go. What she hasn’t told them is that she’s signed them up to take part in a group open-water relay race.

This production, directed by Madeleine Kludje, follows the women through their learning process, but it runs at the pace of a slowly flowing stream. Scene changes are swollen out, unnecessarily; there are segments that could be deleted en masse. The swimming instructor Danny is affectionately played by Sam Baker-Jones with a thick Brummie accent, but he feels like half a character, his story unfinished.

But these are nitpicks because at this play’s heart is a wonderful, deep alliance between women. Together, they discover how to navigate the waves, but also how to be there for each other. Fatu (Anni Domingo) has recently moved to the Midlands in search of a new start. Domingo builds the loss she feels into her character’s body: she flinches when the police are mentioned, she reaches out, longing for her past to seep into her current day. At first a closed book, resistant to share her traumas, Fatu gradually begins to open up and talk to her new friends.

It is a beautiful journey of revelation that absorbs and compels. Water is at the core of it all. Claire Winfield’s set is the shell of an empty pool. Painted in cool blue with deep steps on which to enter, the women float out in their bathing suits, wading, talking and paddling. Soon, you forget the pit is not full of liquid. The sound of crashing and splashing waves hums underneath. Twirling turquoise lights make the stage glisten like the surface of a pool. Movement breaks out in strokes: gentle, then synchronised and strong. If you’re in search of one, here is a manifesto for the joys and power of swimming: Bangura wills you, convincingly, to take the plunge.

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