Love, for all its risks, is rarely framed as something unsettling or dangerous. Desire, hope and care are often gathered together in pursuit of joy. Though sometimes what emerges is darker: love can shift your sense of self, clouded by danger, deceit and dread. The River, directed by Margaret Thanos, explores the space between desire and deceit in an evocative introspection on love. Written by Tony Award-winning playwright Jez Butterworth, the production forces the audience to confront not only what love reveals, but what it conceals.
What is the premise of The River?
The Man (Ewen Leslie) and The Woman (Miranda Otto) spend a weekend together at his remote cabin by a river. He is eager to share a particular fishing expedition with her – one that can only happen at night, with no moon. As the play unfolds, what begins as ripples of a tender, romantic escape becomes more uncertain – an estuary sifting through contradiction, manipulation and honesty.
The production never fully decides what it wants to be – a romance, a tragedy, or something in between. While these questions linger, Thanos’s creative vision allows the ambiguities to become an asset, giving the audience space to remain in the uneasy territory between desire and distrust, where each confession feels both revelatory and suspect. Rather than resolving its tensions, the production lets them pool and deepen, leaving the audience suspended – albeit a little too long – in its murky emotional currents.
Who are the cast and crew of The River?
The cast comprises three performers: Ewen Leslie, Miranda Otto and Andrea Demetriades, who plays The Other Woman. Each brings strength to the production, particularly in moments of dialogue and monologue. Leslie, in particular, embodies paradox and tension, revelling in the ambiguity of The Man and delivering a performance that at times carries more weight than the script itself. Otto proves an equally compelling counterpart, offering a deeply felt performance marked by emotional precision. Her monologue is especially moving, suspending the audience in a liminal space that feels intimate, dreamlike and devastating.
Butterworth’s script feels almost better suited to the page than the stage. Its language is delicate yet sharply wrought, allowing the production to move between humour, playfulness and unease. At times, however, the density of its poetic imagery pulls focus from the performances, particularly in the monologues delivered by Leslie and Demetriades, where the language risks dulling the dramatic tension.
Highlight of The River
Thanos carefully merges the idea of love and horror without settling on either genre. This feat is most evident in one of the few moments we see Leslie alone on stage. As The Man prepares dinner for The Woman/The Other Woman, Leslie slips between an amorous and volatile lover. While it’s easy to pinpoint when discomfort arises, the transition from comfort to unease is almost imperceptible – a testament to his skill and a compelling moment in the play’s exploration of when love begins to feel unfamiliar. Is The Man in control, or does he begin to unravel? Sam Cheng’s composition heightens the paradoxical tension between romance and horror. Cheng’s music doesn’t just accompany Leslie, but shadows him, sharpening a sense of devotion and danger that becomes increasingly indistinguishable.
Who will like The River?
The River embodies poetry on stage. While its richly wrought language and emotional depth offer moments of reflection, its ambiguity and open-ended conclusion leave more questions than answers. This production is an acquired taste, but a unique and contemplative choice for those willing to submerge themselves in it.
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