Review by Danielle LaRose
It starts with a gasp and ends with a giggle. The Drowning Girls, three of them, splutter to life from within bathtub coffins to tell their tale of all being wed to the same murderous, thieving, gas-lighting crook. More specificity could be found in each of the main characters, but there is also power in the ghostly presence of the sisterhood, floating through each other’s stories. It’s often difficult to hear the actors’ voices in the space (which strangely enough sounds like an echoing marble bathroom), but Beth Graham’s script is unrelenting in its depiction of the autonomy-stripping, often desperate act of marriage. They had their own names once, but now their buckets are full of water, wedding-day perfume, his strong features, and empty dreams of happiness.
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