Ink

Helen is a middle-aged, English mother, sitting in a non-descript waiting room somewhere in Texas. She is waiting to see Thomas, the man she is in love with – only she has never met him before. And to make matters even more bizarre, this particular waiting room is in a top-security prison and Thomas is a convicted murder awaiting execution on death row.

Strangely, this central conceit is far from the least believable thing in this production. Indeed, the phenomenon of lonely women striking up relationships with condemned men on death row is surprisingly well documented. Instead, what's incredibly difficult to buy into is the familial relationship between the mother and her daughters. Quite whether this is down to some rather woeful amateur dramatics or the sledgehammer-subtle script is difficult to say. But the consequence is that it's difficult to particularly empathise with anyone as the unit breaks apart under the strain of Helen's decision to fly out to Texas to watch Thomas die.

Perhaps the greatest problem with this production is that never really explains why Helen is driven to contact Thomas or why it is that she ends up falling in love with him. We see snippets of her mental state, but never an examination. Instead, we are told that she loves him and are expected to simply accept it. Consequently, Ink feels woefully shallow – more soap-opera than psycho-drama.

The play ultimately over-stretches itself. It glances over depression, domestic violence, love and rehabilitiation without ever giving these issues the time and attention they deserve.