For the first three minutes of Turning Point Theatre Company’s Covenant, you would be forgiven for thinking you were watching a piece of physical theatre. A steady stream of newsreels declaring abortion illegal in Britain blares while a young woman stirs, stretches, and pulls on a nightgown. Then she looks around, lifts a bowl to her mouth, and vomits.
Every part of this opening sequence is masterfully done: choreography clean, lighting beautiful, and sound design affecting. It’s a polish that continues to define Covenant as it races through its fifty-minute run time: everything is impeccably produced—no mean feat, as Turning Point Theatre Company is independently funded. Everything from set design to background acting is dripping with thought and intention, which turns the tiny black box studio in what would normally be the Royal Society of Edinburgh into a darkly evocative look into dystopian Britain.
First, let’s address the elephant in the room. Covenant is a textbook example of a genre I am going to call abort-fic—a category of art focusing on the physical, mental, and sociological affects of abortion, particularly in situations where obtaining an abortion is challenging, dangerous, or downright illegal, especially popular in the aftermath of the overturning of Roe vs Wade in the USA, which previously enshrined the national right to abortion (remember me when you see this printed verbatim in the 2030 edition of the Oxford Companion to English Literature). Covenant is abort-fic to a T: none of what it covers treads new themes or breaks new ground.
But oh, Covenant is a beautiful work of abort-fic. Walker’s sharp, snappy dialogue is impeccably delivered by an outstanding trio of actors: Nell Lang is spectacular as sharp-tongued Bonnie, Margot Pue’s Gen teeters on her normally deep-set morals, and Cat Tashjian delivers solutions as Rachel. Bonnie’s bleary-eyed horror of a blacked out night, spiralling into a breakdown as friends only become ever the more cagey, is a standout performance, framed by her friends’ opposite approaches to dealing with her in this hazy state.
The entire group are spectacular in their respective roles, and perform equally well in their naturalistic dialogue and the breaks for a brand of physical theatre that borders on sleek choreography. Such stylized sections could prove wearying under a less talented director, but Isabelle Cory is a dab hand: the synchronised, surreal dream sequences clash with forceful, frenzied parry havoc. Meanwhile, the lighting, sound, and set design combine to create a sharp, punchy experience, mirroring Bonnie’s spiral through confusion as she works out what has happened to her.
All this care works like a charm, because Covenant is a terrifically engaging play. It isn’t often at the Fringe that I wish for a show to go on longer, but Covenant is the rare production that could easily surpass its fifty-minute run time: the characters sparkle, the actors have charisma, and the stage is beautiful. And the play could benefit from an extra fifteen minutes: the performance opens the morning after and jumps back to the night before, but never returns to deal with the final reactions of the characters. I love an ambiguous ending as much as the next person, but a few moments at the end to conclude character arcs would only benefit the show. The audience would only delight at the opportunity to spend more time with this remarkable, engaging group of young women.
Is the topic of abortion a road well-travelled? Yes, but that doesn’t mean that a play cannot say its piece eloquently. Through the sheer care that shines through every aspect of the piece and the marvellously high production values, Covenant is easily a standout of the Fringe—and easily one of the best productions I’ve seen all year.
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