Two at Park Theatre

The Cog team, travelling to Park Theatre

Ah, the pub. The public house. Few places offer such a vivid cross-section of British life. From well-dressed diners to weary regulars, celebrations unfold beside quiet sorrows. Almost inevitably, there will be an old man in the corner, nursing a pint of bitter and staring into the middle distance. Have you ever wondered what his story might be?

Park Theatre was as lively as ever on the night we went to see Two, by Jim Cartwright, directed by James Haddrell. Upstairs, the bar buzzed with conversation as people shared pizzas and drinks. A live folk duo helped create an easy, welcoming sense of community.

The pub set of Two at Park Theatre

Stepping into the Park90 space, we are transported to an unremarkable pub somewhere in the north of England. Behind the bar, the landlord and landlady are already at work, polishing glasses and preparing for the evening ahead. Surrounded by pub chairs and tables and with a pint in hand, I felt less like an audience member and more like a regular – all that was missing was a packet of pork scratchings.

Once the pub fills with us watchful ‘regulars’, the action begins. Orders are called, drinks poured, conversations flaring and fading in quick succession. At the centre of it all, the landlord and landlady bicker with practised ease – a familiar rhythm that hints at something more behind the scenes.

Danny, writing his review, between members of the Cog team.

Peter Caulfield and Kellie Shirley are excellent in this two-hander, seamlessly shifting between the landlord and landlady and twelve pubgoers, while keeping the couple’s simmering tension firmly at the heart of the piece.

The comers and goers provide much of the humour. A past-his-prime Scouse chancer’s attempts to chat up audience members is undone by a slipped disc. A well-to-do woman launches straight into an extravagant monologue about her ideal man – big, strong, greek-statue-esque. Her anorak-wearing boyfriend, ‘Dinky’, lingers beside. But there is depth too: a solitary regular recalling his late wife in the quiet ritual of a daily pint.

The darker edges emerge elsewhere, in a disturbing portrait of coercion within a marriage. It is here that Two is able to resist becoming overly sentimental, choosing instead to give us a nuanced picture of British life.

Next time you’re in the pub, take a moment to look around. As you sip your pint or non-alcoholic-beverage-of-choice and tuck into a packet of crisps, let yourself fall into a bit of people-watching. It’s this slightly nosy intimacy that Two captures so well.

Illustration by Tess Farlow for our Cultural Calendar.