a director's note on turtle

TURTLE is a play about a simple, everyday action that causes a calamitous chain of events. The play is about Lily, her sister and her past, Polly, and her fiance and future, Aubrey. All three drink too much, swear too much, and take what they want. These women are driven by themselves and collide into one another's sex and violence.  

As a writer I tend to make dialogue blunt and concrete. Lines are often shards of glass. I enjoy words like clasp, and I enjoy words like cuckoo. The play became animalistic and these women can be profane, puerile and petty, ''There are no swans at this swansong.''

In eight scenes there are hangovers, horror, hysteria and hopefully hilarity.

The challenge in directing Turtle is to bring out the humanity in these scenes, so as an audience we connect with these prickly protagonists. They are flawed and often frank.We need to see some of ourselves in these women and what they are responsible for. 

Camille Saint‐Saëns wrote the musical suite Carnival of the Animals and the play, really, is an Aquarium in The Barracks' deliciously compact setting the lighting and music I have decided on is otherwordly; from Eartha Kitt to Billie Holiday's Strange Fruit. The show I want to create is a Strange Fruit. 

These women are animals.

Resilient and protective, driven by hunger and survival. Sisters Polly and Lily claw at one another, but there is shared history and hysteria in their exchanges. Aubrey is curious at this new arrival, this 'bunny from the hat'. Why does Polly call her sister Turtle? Does she really want to find out? 

The process has been an intense one. With the actors, I've cut, amended, rewrote and blocked, rehearsed and polished a show in a fortnight. It has been a monumental task and I have been alarmingly fortunate to cast three exceptional ladies in my new play. We've all chipped in and chipped off all the fat that clung to the play. These characters have been elevated by these actresses. 

Clare McMahon fizzes with a perilous electricity as the irascible alcoholic Polly. Nuala purrs through her scenes as the serenely curious Aubrey, picking at this secret history like a cat and her ball of yarn. Adele has the hardest task, I think. Lily is icy but can bite, all the while teetering on this glass precipice of shame and anger. Physically, though, these performances have been playful, at times childish and at times provocative.

They're all nuanced, engrossing performances and as a trio they've made a script better, a director energised and a writer chuffed to fuck.