I’ve been working on The Merman, a new play written by Thomas Gladstone, for a few weeks now, as an assistant director. From auditions and initial visions to the ongoing rehearsal process, watching this play come alive in the lead-up to its debut has been an incredibly rewarding experience.

From the moment I first read the script, I was struck by its interlacing of deeply human themes with the shimmering edge of magical realism. Set in a rural town in 1943 Italy, the play follows Salvestro (Niccolo Busuttil), a young travelling pianist, and his dream to bring some hope to the town through his music: a dream threatened when he crosses paths with the fascist mayor, Faraci (Toby Male). Salvestro enlists the help of Lucio (Hugo Aaronson), a WW1 veteran and now a Merman watchman. It is this threat of the Mermen that looms over the town, a constant reminder that danger may rise from the depths at any point. It is engrossing how much responsibility comes with presenting such a morally and emotionally complex story; every choice made by the characters shapes not just the narrative, but also guides how the audience engages with its ambiguity.

“It is engrossing how much responsibility comes with presenting such a morally and emotionally complex story”

In a time where political rhetoric increasingly flirts with the language of othering and alienation, this theme feels hauntingly contemporary. The play has an incredibly weighted emotional journey, one which thrives on the dynamic between characters. I am constantly impressed in rehearsals by how naturally the actors fall into these emotional arcs; lines coming alive right off the page with a compelling intonation. I was particularly captivated by this during a rehearsal of an especially heavy monologue; anger and despair balanced along lines that, despite knowing where the play would end, drew me in all over again.

That same emotional honesty carried straight into a fight choreography session. First, we talked openly about how the characters would navigate the confrontation and, most importantly, how comfortable the actors felt doing so. A quick 2pm pause for free doughnuts, briefly breaking the intensity and then, we built the sequence bit by bit, checking in as the movements grew sharper and more emotionally poised. This was an especially fascinating process to watch as someone new to directing; serving as a reminder that even the most charged moments on stage rely on trust and emphasising how collaborative an effort theatre is. When staging such raw and complex themes, within a world where truth is distorted by propaganda, this trust behind-the-scenes is notably pertinent.

“Even the most charged moments on stage rely on trust”

This collective effort has gone beyond the cast and production team, sourcing props and working alongside Pembroke to organise a venue; after the flooding of their New Cellars submerged our initial plans. Between searching for telescopes on eBay, and fake guns on Amazon, Thomas and I spent Thursday afternoon in Grafton trying to source ‘a shelving unit that could double as a rock when turned around’: a vision I’ll admit I was initially sceptical of. But, never let me stifle your dreams, because, sure enough, there is currently a wooden unit sat covered in expanding foam masquerading as a rock, drying under the bike shed outside our accom.

As my first directing role in Cambridge theatre, this has so far been an incredible project to be a part of. Stepping into this role has challenged me in ways I didn’t anticipate: from learning to trust my instincts in the rehearsal room, to realising just how much clarity and care even the smallest choices require. There’s something so grounding about being involved in a process from the inside out. Over the past year (and a bit) of my time in Cambridge, I have often seen a poster around central Cambridge and then found myself, that same evening, at the door of a venue with my ticket lighting up my phone screen (usually desperately hoping my 2% battery gets me through). So, when I saw The Merman poster go up for the first time, I was hit with that familiar feeling of excitement – a feeling that quickly spiralled into some of our more whimsical ideas for publicity: inflatable merman outfits or even staging ‘merman spotting! ’ competitions around Grantchester – which is a hypothetical we haven’t ruled out… yet.

The Merman runs at Pembroke Auditorium between Wednesday 3rd-Friday 5th December at 7:30 pm.