The trust the Traverse Theatre invests in its writers is exemplary and has made this venue a veritable haven for new writing. They produce a huge number of shows on an empty stage, and rather than limiting theatre’s potential, this only heighten its power, lending complete authority to the language alone. Simon Stephens’ one-man show Sea Wall, which looks at the devastating impact of an unforeseen tragedy on father Alex’s domestic bliss, takes place on one such bare stage. It is the simplicity of this approach that lends this play and Andrew Scott’s performance such extraordinary impact and allows Stephens’ delicately crafted script to weave its spell on a transfixed and transported audience.

This is an exceptionally taut and well-timed monologue and as the narrative unfolds and the themes materialise, one starts to realise that Stephens’ craftsmanship is wrapped up in a larger, more oblique metaphor. This is a play that is preoccupied with religion – the alternately comforting and frightening control that God can exert on people’s lives – and as Alex’s fate spirals into chaos, the parallels between the playwright and God, or some higher power, begin to emerge. It calls to mind that well-worn argument dragged up to confirm the existence of God – that a world with such definite design cannot have come about accidentally – and one realises that Stephens’ exquisitely controlled writing is indirectly confirming, or at least suggesting, the existence of some greater authority.

Stephens is careful not to let his script sink beneath the tragedy and maintains a nice balance between profundity and inanity. This is a harrowing piece, unlocking an unexpected and heart-breaking event, but it isn’t hard to watch. Stephens and Scott are careful to build things up slowly, constantly counteracting the play’s heavier moments with light-hearted but pertinent observations. So, whilst the opening segment swells towards this central tragedy, Stephens still finds the time to let us know the smaller details, such as the fact that Alex ‘cries at Groundforce’ and his daughter is a keen fan of power rangers. 

Scott (along with director Perrin) understands the near-perfect specificity of Stephen’s script and seems completely locked into the rhythm of his language. His delivery is initially low-key and light, as he pulls the audience in with his cheeky grin and expressive, roaming eyes. Just as Stephens understands the control he can exert with his precise use of language, so too does Scott recognise the absolute power and range of his own voice. It is rare to see an actor exert such peculiar control over the volume and tone of his delivery and Scott picks his way through the script with absolute care, adjusting his settings with instinctive skill as he goes along.

There is only one moment that Scott and Stephens’ script seem out of synch. This is quite conscious and comes halfway through the play, when one horrific accident transforms Alex’s life for good. Scott, who up until now has skilfully complemented Stephens’ every word, slides over this revelation, very nearly skipping over it altogether. The audience stops in its tracks – did that really just happen – and the confusion felt at this moment, the disconnect between Scott’s off-hand delivery and the crushing nature of his revelation, emphasises fate’s cruel inconsistencies and the impossibility of preparing for its unexpected twists.

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