Review: The Memory of Water at the Liverpool Everyman ****

It’s been 30 years since Shelagh Stephenson’s darkly comic play premiered at the Hampstead Theatre, going on to transfer to the West End and Broadway and winning an Olivier to boot.

And while the creamy tones of Nat King Cole might punctuate scene changes in this sparky revival at the Liverpool Everyman, it’s the sound of the Spice Girls which drags us back aurally to 1996, the year of genetically modified crops, royal divorces, Dunblane, Dolly the sheep and Trainspotting.

In a bitter, snow-whipped winter on the crumbling North Yorkshire coast, three sisters gather to plan their late mother Vi's funeral and to negotiate their way thorough bereavement along with their own dysfunctional sibling relationships.

The Memory of Water refers, we learn, to the controversial homeopathic theory that water retains the electromagnetic imprint of substances dissolved in it, even if diluted.

Both memory and memories are at the heart of Stephenson’s story (one apparently influenced by losing her own mother during its development). Although as the late Queen pointed out so succinctly – recollections may vary. And they certainly do here.

Shared moments of childhood are recalled quite differently by sensible but anxious eldest Teresa (Victoria Brazier), seemingly cool and detached but emotionally fragile middle sister Mary (Polly Lister) and narcissistic, immature but insecure and vulnerable baby of the family Catherine (a rather frenzied Helen Flanagan). All three are damaged in different ways.

And the past is given yet another perspective by Vicky Binns’ cocktail dress-clad Vi, who shimmies in and out of proceedings in the form of Mary’s spectral memory.

Above: Catherine (Helen Flanagan), Mary (Polly Lister) and Teresa (Victoria Brazier): Top: Lister as Mary. Photos by Pamela Raith Photography.

If her loss leaves the bickering siblings fractious, fractured and adrift, it's a state mirrored in Katie Scott’s set design with the action taking place inside the claustrophobic confines of their late mother’s bedroom which itself appears the scene of a seismic schism, sitting on a platform with ragged and exposed edges which rake out towards the audience which cocoons the action on three sides.

Here amid a clutter of old clothes, cases, hat and shoe boxes, drawers of jewellery and a dressing table strewn with creams and powder - not to mention the added presence of Mary’s commitment-shy married boyfriend (Charlie de Melo), the trio pinball about, avoiding each other like so many pieces of positively charged matter.

Accusations are levelled, old grievances aired, secrets are revealed and fleeting moments of warm nostalgia and sisterly togetherness are shared.

Above: Frank (Reginald Edwards) and Vi (Vicky Binns). Photos by Pamela Raith Photography

At times Stephenson’s script has a Bennett-esque quality to it, and there's certainly a distinct tinge of Victoria Wood – you can practically hear the late Patricia Routledge’s Kitty delivering the drily witty dialogue gifted to Teresa and Mary. If not the swearing.

Meanwhile Frank, Teresa’s staid, long-suffering husband and reluctant business partner (think a marginally more assertive Howard in Ever Decreasing Circles), also gets some deliciously choice lines which actor Reginald Edwards delivers with cheerful relish. Is it bad to say I'd love to watch a spin-off two-hander featuring Teresa and Frank?

For me, this Everyman and Playhouse/Bolton Octagon co-production, directed by Bolton’s artistic director Lotte Wakeham is at its strongest in the comedic, chaotic moments where the sisters’ grieving brittleness is expressed through blackly funny observations.

The punch-in-the-gut, emotional heart of the piece remains somewhat more elusive, although the scenes between Lister’s Mary and the excellent and understated Binns as Vi certainly achieve a moving resonance.

And it's true that while the comedy may be acerbic, it also comes tinged with pathos and a pervading sense of melancholy.