“A very interesting premise is not expanded upon, only explained”
A tower in Greenwich overlooking the Thames sits at the centre of Timelapse Company’s debut musical Precipice. Following two distinct timelines—pre- and post-apocalypse—and set to an “electro-folk” score, its premise promises something original, exciting and potentially innovative. Unfortunately, the originality begins and ends there, as the show spends much of its two-hour runtime explaining what has already been written in the programme.
After a sombre recording of a person tracking their own survival and stumbling upon the infamous tower block, the show begins on a slightly jarring note: it jumps straight into a makeshift living-room concert where we are somewhat introduced to our cast of the future—a cohort trying to live out of the tower block, giving us a ham-fisted rendition of the events that have come before. Some musical numbers include lyrics listing Monopoly pieces; another relies on a chorus repeated four times. It feels as though the show’s lyricism, especially in this first half, lacks precision.
The audience is initially addressed directly, giving the impression that we are part of the room—an interesting idea that is, unfortunately, abandoned immediately after this opening moment. What follows is an interweaving of this ensemble singing to explain the plot with a present-day timeline following a couple moving into the apartment.
This couple are believably unremarkable and comfortably middle-class, with one-liners about Waitrose and Pret subscriptions that seem intended to carry the weight of the show’s promised dark comedy. I must admit, when the setting was described—paired with the poster design—this was not what I imagined. We spend a large amount of time with these characters, meaning that a play with the potential to look to the future, to humanity, and to our present ultimately rests on the familiar laurels of contemporary life and contemporary musical theatre. The music, too, rarely leans into its “electro-folk” identity, instead gravitating toward well-tested, repetitive musical-theatre forms. Musical theatre is at its best when inner lives and worlds are revealed; here, attempts are made, but they feel underbaked, resulting in an unmemorable soundtrack.
The second half is stronger in most respects. The future ensemble experience conflict when the power goes out, and for the first time I found small moments where these characters resonated. This was largely due to performance: a brief moment where Eric Stroud’s character lifts a plant in a particular way tells us more about him as a greenhouse worker than much of the script does. The intimacy of these moments made me realise how much characterisation had been left unexplored.
Holly Freeman is the unquestionable standout. Her performance is understated, and her tentative approach to the difficult situation Emily faces makes her a character you can genuinely feel for and understand. Her singing is also incredibly smooth. The on-stage instrumentation, too, hints at what the show’s sound could have been. The cast are unquestionably multi-talented, playing multiple instruments and generally singing well; it’s a shame the material isn’t focused enough to make the subject matter of their songs as expansive as their abilities.
It feels as though the team came up with the concept of Precipice, and the result is an effort to fill in the blanks. I wanted to know who these characters were, what brought them to the tower, how they coped, whether Emily truly left the city. Some of the more questionable science of the post-apocalyptic scenario would be forgivable if the play spent less time justifying itself and more time fleshing out the characters and the world they inhabit.
This show runs at New Diorama Theatre until 13th December. Tickets here.