Terence Rattigan’s The Deep Blue Sea has long stood as an unwavering example of emotional restraint and psychological depth, and in Lindsay Posner’s latest revival at the Theatre Royal Haymarket, transferring from Bath, the play is given a searing new life. With Tamsin Greig at its centre, this production is a devastatingly intimate portrait of love, despair, and the quiet agony of emotional isolation.
Greig’s portrayal of Hester Collyer is nothing short of beautiful. Known for her deft comic timing and nuanced dramatic work, she brings a raw vulnerability to the role that is both harrowing and magnetic. Her Hester is not merely a woman undone by love, but one caught in the undertow of a society that offers her no place to land. From the moment she appears on stage, Greig commands attention with a performance that is as emotionally precise as it is physically restrained.
Opposite her, Nicholas Farrell delivers a quietly powerful turn as Sir William Collyer, Hester’s estranged husband. His portrayal is steeped in dignity and heartbreak, offering a counterpoint to the volatile charm of Hadley Fraser’s Freddie Page. Fraser captures the tragic inadequacy of Freddie—a man whose wartime heroism has left him ill-equipped for the demands of peacetime love—with a performance that is both charismatic and deeply sad.
Set across three acts, covering morning, afternoon, and evening of the same day, The Deep Blue Sea begins with an attempted suicide; the day that follows is no less emotionally draining. Yet, there’s some gentle comedy from the ensemble cast, most notably the nosey housekeeper Mrs Elton (Selina Cadell), the disgraced Doctor Miller (Finbar Lynch) and the neighbours, Ann and Philip Welch (Lisa Ambalavanar and Preston Nyman).
Posner’s direction is elegant and unobtrusive, allowing Rattigan’s text to breathe while drawing out its emotional undercurrents with clarity and care. The production’s pacing is deliberate, almost meditative, which suits the introspective nature of the play. Peter McKintosh’s stunning set design—a faded, claustrophobic flat in post-war London, replete with peeling wallpaper and tatty armchair —perfectly mirrors the emotional entrapment of its inhabitants.
This revival refuses to sensationalise Hester’s despair. Instead, it presents her pain with a quiet dignity, inviting the audience to sit with her in the silence between words. This Deep Blue Sea is not a spectacle—it is a slow (sometimes too slow), aching unravelling. And in Greig’s hands, it becomes something unforgettable: a portrait of a woman who dares to feel too deeply in a world that punishes such vulnerability.
