The Bridge

The Bridge

Oran Mor, Glasgow

Mary Brennan

Like Davy, we know. We know that this woman, sitting alone on a bench, is waiting until darkness sends everyone home and the bridge she's on can become the means to her end. Writer and director Donna Franceschild knows that we'll suss the situation within the opening sentences of this two-hander - and that we'll join up the dots scattered through subsequent exchanges, gathering as we go that Davy and the name-less woman both have untold troubles and past griefs.

Not everything stays untold, however. The garrulous Davy (Iain Robertson) has a tendency to say "I'll tell you a story...", before launching into some bruising anecdote from his schooldays, or an episode from his supposedly happy marriage, now over. The woman (Eilidh McCormick) isn't fooled by any of his gambits - but then he isn't buying into any of her excuses as to why she's here without a handbag or anything else that would identify her after death.

He keeps up the chat, the questions, the wheedling. She re-buffs every offer of help: a taxi? a wee shared curry from the nearby restaurant? his phone? Robertson's affability never flags but the woman resolutely keeps this shabby-crumpled Good Samaritan at arms-length, emotionally as well as physically. Franceschild's script is a sweetly crafted mix of pawky, rueful humour and genuinely affecting pain and despair, where the spectre of dramatic cliche is kicked into touch by her writing and by two unstinting heart-and-soul performances from Robertson and McCormick. Real people do mess up, real life can take vulnerable individuals to the edge - these truths are treated here with an insight and respect that understands such mental anguish. The kindness of strangers can be the bridge back to life.

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