The Memory of Water review, Hampstead Theatre: 25 years on, this nuanced portrayal of grief still feels fresh

Shelagh Stephenson’s play about three daughters brought together by the death of their mother encapsulates the dark humour of grief

Clockwise from top right: Laura Rogers, Carolina Main, Lucy Black (Helen Murray)

Can you steal other people’s memories? How can you remember something that didn’t happen? What happens when memory begins to fade? Back in 1996, Shelagh Stephenson delved into these questions in The Memory of Water, a darkly comic play about death and grief. Twenty-five years later, the family drama has returned to its original home of Hampstead Theatre under Alice Hamilton’s direction, with a production that maintains its poignant relevancy. Stephenson may have written the script in the 1990s, but the dialogue feels surprisingly undated – bar the odd yikes-worthy Woody Allen reference and the fact that you can buy two pints and a rum and coke for £5.50.

Estranged sisters Teresa (Lucy Black), Mary (Laura Rogers) and Catherine (Carolina Main) are back together at their childhood home for the funeral of their mother Vi, who has died after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. They pace around her ornate bedroom, a nostalgic time capsule to a gone-by era decorated with Gustavian furniture and brocade wallpaper. Cards from mourners they don’t know – nicknamed “fan mail” – pile up on the bed, while secrets threaten to burst out at any moment like the overstuffed wardrobes they need to sort through.

At the heart of the show are Black, Rogers and Main, who perfectly capture the sisterly dynamic as grief forces them to act like adults while reverting to childlike bickering and grabbing. Each sibling has a clear role in the family and resents the others for it – eldest Teresa the teetotal homeopath who cared for their mother, Mary the seemingly perfect doctor, Catherine the weed-smoking slacker who can’t hold down a relationship. All three actors shine, but it is Unforgotten’s Main who gets closest to the true insanity of grief, pivoting from hysterical sobbing to manic laughter and back in a second.

But among the eye roles and angst, darker topics are emerging. Mary is haunted by the ghost of Vi (Lizzy McInnerny), who glides around her bedroom in a 1950s cocktail dress, chiding her daughter. Pushing it away, Mary funnels her energy into reading about her 20-year-old coma patient with amnesia and ignoring the guilt from her ongoing five-year affair with married TV doctor Mike (Adam James). As a litre bottle of whiskey is shared between the sisters, truths and memories hidden from each other begin to slip out to earth-shattering effect.

The Memory of Water is at its best when comedy and tragedy meld together, highlighting the awful yet funny things you really shouldn’t but can’t help laughing about in grief. But as dark secrets unspool, the comedy becomes broader and that nuance starts to slip. Theresa’s husband Frank (Kulvinder Ghir) arrives armed with comments of comic relief, but it doesn’t always feel necessary – we’re already laughing without every line sounding like a stand-up set soundbite. While Goodness Gracious Me star Ghir is undoubtedly a hilarious actor, Frank feels like a character from another play and jars slightly in the second half.

Lizzy McInnerny as Vi in ‘The Memory of Water’ (Helen Murray)

As the title suggests, Stephenson’s work is ultimately a show about memory. There’s their mother’s decline due to her illness, but there are also childhood memories assigned to the wrong sister and clouded by personal perspective. Catherine recalls being forgotten at the beach as a child, only to be told that it was Mary that actually happened to. “So how come I remember it?” she asks, incredulously. “Because I told you about it and you appropriated it because it fits,” Mary responds. Memory is malleable, Stephenson tells us. Who knows what will be remembered down the line? You might as well live now.

‘The Memory of Water’ runs at Hampstead Theatre until 16 October