“The Drowning Girls” Extra Timely Post-Roe v. Wade

Timing isn’t everything, but the recent overturning of Roe v. Wade provides a sort of serendipity to the two-year delay the Garage Theatre encountered on the way to staging The Drowning Girls by reminding us of the unfortunate historical truth that the patriarchal oppression featured in early 20th-century England isn’t nearly as far removed from today’s USA as a lot of us wish.

We meet Alice (Skylar Alexis), Bessie (Natalie Kathleen), and Margaret (Jenney McAfee) as they emerge from bathtubs in a sort of netherworld (the only thing we learn about it is that there’s no fourth wall), where we come to find that all three died between 1912–’14 under identical circumstances: brought money into a new marriage to a man with little money, new life insurance policy at husband’s behest, recent doctor’s visit because husband claimed she had a sleeping seizure, drowned while taking a bath, supposedly alone, no signs of struggle.

Although there’s a bit of whodunnit and comeuppance in what follows, plot isn’t the point. Neither is the question of whether The Drowning Girls is based on a true story (which couldn’t matter less in terms of what’s on stage and is only vaguely suggested in the closing moments). This is a play that is all about the telling, because it’s in both the women’s collective narrative and re-enactment of scenes from their lives that we find the heartbeat of The Drowning Girls: the societal pressure that molds women to men’s designs.

It’s clever of playwrights Beth Graham, Charlie Tomlinson, and Daniela Vlaskalic to communicate the results of this pressure not via the words/actions of men toward them, but through those of the women themselves. Born and bred to be subservient, corseted in mind/body/soul so that even talk amongst themselves is generally confined to triviality, and expected as a matter of course to espouse themselves on completely unequal terms, it’s heartbreaking to be with these patriarchy victims as they review their lives with one foot in the world that shaped them and the other in an afterlife from which they begin to get a clear view of what they endured in not just their last moments but all their lives.

Curiously, the way they talk about themselves and their experience was the cause of much (what one might call) inappropriate laughter in the audience during the first half of opening night. Apparently tickled by the quaintness (i.e., compared to our (call it) more enlightened culture) of the women’s view of gender roles, laughter regularly abounded at expressions that highlighted the broader tragedy at issue. I can think of only one other show I’ve seen where such a significant percentage of the audience was apparently clueless to what was “really” happening onstage. I don’t know whether this has anything to do with director Eric Hamme’s seeing far more humor in the play than I do (as I learned from a discussion we had after the show); all I can report is a disconnect that was not the actors’ fault.

Needless to say, a bad cast — especially when it’s just three actors who never leave the stage — could sink the whole production, not only in terms of generating the necessary pathos but also because the trio is increasingly called upon to embody additional roles, into and out of which they must move with a protean flow. In this all three excel, particularly Jenney McAfee, who alters herself moment-to-moment as needed with such detail that even in the Garage’s black box you have to look closely to catch it all.

The only shortcoming here is the overly high percentage of time Natalie Kathleen pegs the needle. It’s fine that she’s naturally the loudest of the cast, and her vocal power is put to good use, but sometimes that volume comes at the expense of nuance and knocks the onstage energy out of balance. Probably a note from Hamme (who’s generally done a fine job with his able cast) is all that’s necessary to help her show more consistently how good she can be.

If there’s much humor in the show’s first half, it doesn’t work for me, but eventually the playwrights manufacture some fun in the midst of the grimness — a neat trick. The best of this comes with a bit involving Scotland Yard, and Kathleen, McAfee, and Alexis slay us with their energy and timing. It’s not just a bit of sunshine in the gloom — it aesthetically elevates the entire work.

The script’s weakest aspect is the overuse of a device where the women alternate clipped phrases to gloss a feeling or event: “Head wrenched back,” “eyes wide,” “bulging.” “His eyes —” “no words,” “mouth shut.” “Filling up,” “going under,” “submerging.” “Darkness.” “Silence.” “Eternally.” This can be effective, but occasionally it comes off as careless (e.g., doesn’t their consciousness in the netherworld belie darkness-silence-eternally?), and by play’s end it feels tired even though the runtime is a mere 80 minutes.

Another possible weakness may be the optimistic denouement, which to me feels like a cold comfort catharsis that blunts the overall impact. Then again, considering that this play’s spiritual raison d’être is to kill off all forces that rob women of their power — including the cultural messaging that contributes to women’s devaluing themselves — I can’t argue with the logic of projecting the villain’s comeuppance as a hopeful sign of change to come.

There’s no denying that The Drowning Girls is theatre that stays with you. And however much some might feel we’ve talked patriarchy to death over the last decade, considering how many of today’s American women are glad to be rid of Roe v. Wade and continue to support the political party that brought us Clarence Thomas and Donald Trump, it’s clear how deeply the issue at the heart of The Drowning Girls endures as a cancer in our national body, a cancer that art like this can help ablate.

The Drowning Girls at the Garage Theatre

Show runs through September 24

Times: Thursday–Saturday 8:00 p.m.

Cost: $18–$25 (Thursdays 2-for-1); closing night w/afterparty: $30

Details: thegaragetheatre.org

Venue: The Garage Theatre, 251 E. 7th St., Long Beach