Alicia Barban, Blythe Haynes and Georgia Findlay in ‘The Drowning Girls’ Photo by Raph Nogal
The supposed final melody heard on the Titanic—the hymn “Nearer, My God, to Thee”—has always had deeply wet and sombre associations for me. From now on, its melancholic chords will be haunted by these drenched brides. Based on the true story of three women in the early twentieth century who were swindled and murdered by the same man, The Drowning Girls, capping Guild Festival Theatre‘s 2023 season, gives them playful and poetic agency over their shared story.
They emerge from their clawfoot bathtubs and, discovering one another, come together to examine their circumstances and tell their ghastly tale. The lyrical script by Beth Graham, Charlie Tomlinson and Daniela Vlaskalic is careful to give each of them a robust and compelling interiority that enriches their communal dynamic as a chorus and narrators.
Alicia Barban (Bessie), Blythe Haynes (Margaret) and Georgia Findlay (Alice) bring these women to vivid life. Intimately in tune with each other, they highlight each of the women’s specific idiosyncrasies while forging an atmosphere of determined solidarity. And they also play a number of colourful supporting characters along the way, offering us a glimpse into a fully realized world and its social mores.
The families of these women are a particularly heartbreaking aspect of the story. Their distrust of this mysterious man and reluctance to accept him into their affections is both justified and problematic. The fixation on social standing and family reputation is oppressively demeaning and you can understand how desperately these women want to break from this classist tradition. These relations care deeply, though; and, ultimately, you can sense the awful burden of having their suspicions eventually validated.
The women’s joy at meeting and marrying this man is tainted by our knowledge of his duplicity and murderous intentions. The play points a warning finger at the social pressure to be married and the then-pervasive notion that spinsterhood is a fate almost as bad as death. It also probes their motivations as more complex than mere societal expectation and lets the women articulate the very human fear of getting old without a dependable companion.
The on-stage tubs are filled with real water which creates a distinctly urgent and visceral connection to the women’s sodden fate. Kalina Popova’s production design brings the gauzy, delicate textures of the bridal gowns clinging relentlessly to their flesh and juxtaposes this with the hard, unforgiving surface of their individual murder sites. Particularly eerie, as night descends and the ambient outdoor light gradually gives way to Adam Walters’ eerie blue wash, is the way the pattern of rust on the underside of the tubs begins to look like creeping mold—or even, perhaps, blood.
Rather than diminishing the macabre aspects of the story, the abundant humour and whimsy enhance them. Director Helen Juvonen’s sensibilities—both emotional and aesthetic—reveal a thorough appreciation for the text and a masterfully light touch. There is a cool, sensual intensity to bare feet slapping against wet concrete, bodies tensed in both defiance and acceptance of water, and a wistfully evocative gestural language.
On opening night, the temperature took a significant plunge. For those audience members with jackets or blankets, it wasn’t particularly bothersome. The wet actors braving a crisp breeze, though, were absolute troopers and I applaud their unflinching resolve!
I loved every second of this elegant and chilling production. So many beautifully realized moments have settled and frozen in my mind’s eye.
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