Written by Alan Ayckbourn

Directed by Andrew Panton

Review by Dominic Corr

Tickets from £15.00

A deceivingly gallows piece to ring the post-summer season of the Dundee Rep to life, Alan Ayckbourn’s Snake in the Grass proves to be prime material for a terrifically engaging and fun three-hander of secrets, spirits, and memorable performance, and some venomous humour.

Returning to their childhood home in England, Annabel is recently divorced. She is back to organise the details of her late father’s inheritance – the main draw of which is the large home he spent his final days in. The circumstances of his death seem suspicious, but it isn’t until their father’s former nurse, Alice, adds a few details to the story that the once gloriously sunny and pleasant garden audiences find themselves observing begins to look more twisted and withered – something cruel lurking in the thickets.

With scandal and secrets erupting, audiences attempt to play detective as they think they can unravel Ayckbourn’s mysteries as Annabel tries to keep her younger sister Miriam safe and the sharp-minded Alice at bay. But as tempers build and the truth unfurls itself, the coils of apprehension become tighter as audiences enrapture themselves with the story – even as it dips into a few melodramatic reveals. Much of the success and nuance, though, is down to the tremendous skills of the cast, Dierdre Davis and Emily Winter as sisters Anabel and Miriam, while having a ball (as usual) on stage is Ann Louise Ross as Alice.

Well-structured and conceived, Jen McGinley’s effective set design is a playground for talents like these, who incorporate the entire space without needing to fill in any blanks. The restricted and run-down tennis court beyond the fence feels all the more dangerous with how Davis reacts to it, deliberately avoiding the gaze and space at first in a chilling performance that is easily accessible for the audience to find a similar mindset. Winter’s more erratic, bouncing, and infectious energies are an ideal counter to Davis’ more reserved characterisation. And if the three share the stage, the back-and-forth bluffing and second-guessing the trio perform on one another is a fine demonstration of the talent on stage.

For a production with three female leads, there is an inescapable force of malevolent masculinity echoing throughout; the sister’s fatherly presence stifles the air and adds additional layers of bite to what could have been a more mealy production. It takes tremendous understanding and confidence to carry the twists which Ayckbourn utilises within the script; Andrew Panton’s direction holds course exquisitely with a composure that maintains pacing and enables a character richness that isn’t lost whenever the production takes a sharp turn as it slinks between the melodramatic elements of a family drama, the ripples of a ghostly tale, and lashings of deeply grim gallows humour. It’s only in the second act where the pacing is apparent – only in how briskly it concludes; a shame when so much of the brilliance and rawness in performance and terror is used exceedingly well in this second act: a less is more approach which works but may leave a couple looking for an additional ten or so minutes of build-up.

Atmosphere is a fourth cast member, though, with how well it is utilised. Derek Anderson’s lighting flitters us between times of day, but often so gradually to mark the passing of time or tone, that its nuanced use is as equally impressive as when the show treads into the more horror elements, and the lighting floods or collapses to traject a state of fear all around. While Niroshini Thambar’s score is near cinematic in utilisation – sharp counterpoints and dread weaved throughout with a heavily piano-inspired score to emphasise the depths to which this twisted tale descends – and to make sure even the bravest and stoniest of audience members have a fright or two before departing the theatre, perhaps a little earlier than expected with the shorter second act structure.

An English horror benefitting from exceptionally skilled Scottish talents, Snake in the Grass makes up for shortcomings in exaggerations or short-second acts with a fine demonstration of performance and confident directing. It is a slick and slithery, often chilling production, at its best, where horror or comedy control the stage; there’s a dark heart here, which reminds us that the ghosts within our memories can be far more deadly than any phantom on the stage. Then again, the more mortal threats we take for granted can be even worse.

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