Jealousy: A universal feeling felt by all. Except, Mark Ravenhill’s Pool (no water) explores the twisted, deeply unsettling side of jealousy, as it transcends into the realms of resentment. This is a tale of fragile friendship, where exploitative deeds and dark ideas leave us in a state of emotional flux, questioning the morality of the characters.
There is no time to sit back and relax in this show, its tempo is fast and hard-hitting
In light of one of their friend’s recent successes in the art world, we meet three failed artists, who upon witnessing a terrible accident in a swimming pool, take advantage of the situation in an attempt to project their careers and gain the recognition they all crave and yearn for.
Mark Ravenhill’s script doesn’t allocate lines to particular characters; it’s formatted as a fluid piece of writing, offering freedom of interpretation, and has been seamlessly adapted in this debut production by ETAL Theatre. The result is a powerful and physically demanding interpretation. The compact basement of the YES venue makes for an ‘in-yer-face’ style of theatre and is the perfect setting for Arthur Loades' club-like atmosphere, with DJ Jess Rose’s music permeating the space and intensifying the action of this disturbing story.
Technically, I would have appreciated a smoother flow between tracks, as often songs abruptly stop and begin again. Similarly, lighting cues felt delayed in places and needed tightening. However, I loved how music very much became part of the inner workings of these characters' minds. They try to find some form of control, yet gradually lose themselves in a world of chaos that unfolds as they become uncontainable and wild in their movement. There is no time to sit back and relax in this show, its tempo is fast and hard-hitting, a commonality shared between the characters and the drugs they consume to propel them forward.
Each character plays their part in the action with the cast often working and moving in unison, delivering dynamic storytelling. Michael Loftus stands out as the cantankerous artist whose patronising undertones are menacing yet disturbing. Amber Gilmour beautifully executes her character's fragility in some powerful yet humorous moments. Grace Housten’s complicity in the act is enhanced by her manipulative angel-like quality. Dean Michael Gregory’s subtle moments of guilt are quickly displaced by his own desires. Collectively, you don’t trust these characters, no matter how many times they say they care about their 'friend'. I sort out moments of self-doubt, but they collectively spur each other on, which is what makes this production so engaging.
