Romance and tenderness collide with something far more sinister in multi-award nominated playwright Isley Lynn’s multigenerational tale of queer love and deception. When chaotic, free-spirited old friend Flo (Jessica Clark) turns up and disrupts the soon-to-be-marital bliss of young couple Annie (Saroja-Lily Ratnavel) and Bel (Ruby Crepin-Glyne), her arrival has the somewhat disastrous effect of tugging a loose thread on a woollen jumper: everything quickly begins to unravel.
The Orange Tree’s in-the-round stage setup has been fashioned here into a raised, marble-like platform used to good effect – characters have boxing-ring style face-offs or frolic after one another flirtatiously. The six-strong cast remain in the auditorium throughout; if not playing a scene, they’re at the sidelines providing a tantalising vocal score (sound design by the prolific Nicola T. Chang) characterised by rich, haunting harmonies that, well, swell, conjuring the gently acknowledged ocean-side location of the play’s world.
The score is not just melodic though. A sigh or gasp on stage is sometimes echoed by the other hidden voices, creating an unsettling surround-sound effect. You’ll find yourself glancing over your shoulder to see where it came from, and wondering how it sounded like it was right in your ear.
As the dynamic between Flo, Annie and Bel grows increasingly messy, another love story is unfurling: an older generation romance (played touchingly by Shuna Snow and Sophie Ward) that is not all it seems. Isley Lynn’s characters are nuanced and beautifully drawn, and the play’s dialogue is gorgeously natural and flowing.
Where the playwright really excels though, is in bold and unexpected choices. The Swell takes its audience on some hugely gripping twists and turns. Without them, this still would’ve been a good play – but with them, it becomes something altogether more audacious.
Hannah Hauer-King’s smart direction playfully illuminates the text’s narrative shifts that leave you feeling truly – but appropriately – discombobulated. Within that though, there’s attention given to quiet, tender moments too. A yoga lesson given in earnest dissolving into doe-eyed flirtation; someone gently helping their partner navigate their way out of a panic attack; someone else helping a confused partner put their eyeglasses on. These moments are moving portraits of not only queer love, but all love.
Hauer-King has clearly had fun with a cast that is uniformly very good. Stand-out performances come from Ratnavel and Snow – they do brilliant stuff with characters that are simultaneously deeply sympathetic but creep right under your skin.
This is a dark and moving meditation on love and betrayal packed into a tight 90 minutes that’ll leave you wanting more. A brain-teaser at times, but worth waiting for the pay-off. Lynn’s writing is genuinely exciting – this feels like the queer-but-not-about-being-queer play that the new writing scene needs right now.
