How Not to Drown at Oldham Coliseum: Review

Who killed Oldham Coliseum? That’s the question many are asking as this historic local theatre closes after over 100 years of business. A theatre which has survived two world wars, a global pandemic, and which helped launch the careers of Stan Laurel, Ralph Fiennes, and Minnie Driver, amongst others, will cease to exist at the end of this month.

How did this sad state of affairs come to pass? Losing precious Arts Council funding was the final nail in the coffin, but truth be told, the Coliseum’s card was marked for burial a long time ago. Local Council bunglers must shoulder a lot of the blame; years of inertia and neglect, administered like a slow acting poison, are significant reasons why.

It’s common knowledge that the Coliseum building is falling down, balanced precariously on rotten timber foundations. Tentative plans to move to a different location were discussed as long ago as the late 90’s. Ten years later, the council finally got round to commissioning an architectural practice; after drafting plans, the company went bankrupt. At this point, Oldham Council seemingly lost interest. ‘Dare to be wise’ is their motto – entirely laughable given the amount of money they’ve wasted on failed development projects (one of the biggest being the doomed Mumps based ‘Hotel Future’, a white elephant which bit the dust in 2015).

The wider cultural impact of Oldham losing one of its few jewels has yet to be calculated. There are only around four restaurants in the town, all of which get business from the pre-theatre crowd. Will they survive without the Coliseum? It doesn’t bear thinking about. The Coliseum has a new board of trustees but their role will not be to plan a future, merely focus on curating a Coliseum legacy: something more substantial than a blue plaque on Fairbottom Street, I hope.

A bitter sweet experience then for Thick Skin Theatre, gifted the accidental honour of being the last theatre company to officially perform at the Coliseum. Written by Nicola McCartney and Dritan Kastrati, How Not To Drown is a dynamic piece of work, the painfully true story of Kastrati’s experience as a child asylum seeker, arriving in the UK from Eastern Europe, after the end of the Yugoslav Wars.

Given the speed of the modern news cycle, it’s easy to forget this war – a series of separate but related ethnic conflicts – lasted for a whole decade, from 1991 to 2001. The scale of atrocities committed throughout, are beyond most people’s comprehension; the complete truth will probably never be known. After almost twenty years, it’s a jolt to again hear the name of dead war criminal Slobodan Milosevic (a vile individual who met his demise in a prison cell, whilst awaiting trial for human rights abuses).

How Not to Drown, is less about the war itself, and more about the consequences which occurred directly afterwards, the brunt of which were borne by the children. Kastrati – who also stars – was shipped over to the UK by his fearful parents, worried he wouldn’t be safe in an Albania now controlled by dangerous criminal gangs. An emotional wrench given the maxim espoused by various characters in the opening stretch: ‘Without a family – you’re nothing!’

Director, Neil Bettles directs the journey across land and sea with considerable verve, giving parts of this show the feel of a political thriller. The five strong ensemble – including Ajjaz Awad, Esme Bayley, Daniel Cahill and Samuel Reuben – perform with great urgency. Bettles and Jonnie Riordan are credited as choregraphers, and it’s an intensely physical show. Becky Minto’s cantered, rotating floor set means the cast are often performing on a slope, yet they swing round a series of crash barriers – during one sequence, to portray a rocky boat journey – with carefully controlled abandon.

There’s no smooth assimilation for Kastrati, when he finally arrives on these shores. He’s immediately removed from his UK blood family, and shunted off to a detention centre, before drifting from one unsuitable foster family to the next. Bullied at school and home, he fights back, behavior which causes him to become more deeply enmeshed in a bureaucratic system founded on the concept of indifference. This is the sort of theatre show ‘Cruella’ Braverman should be forced to watch – though it would be unlikely to crack a chip in her stone-clad heart. This lady isn’t for turning, particularly when there’s a Rwandan bound jet taxiing on the runway.

How Not To Drown takes an unexpected turn when Kastrati returns to Albania. He struggles to communicate with his parents; English is now his first language. He’s become a nomad, someone who doesn’t belong anywhere. It seems that the traumatic experience of asylum seeking has – for him like many others – been a tragic, pointless waste. This doesn’t stop him demanding answers from his parents. McCartney and Drittin’s text is balanced enough to present both sides of the argument. There are no black and white explanations in this world of a million greys.

Under the circumstances, it was unsurprising how many people leapt to their feet at the end. It’s a double edged sword to watch a show this good with an engaged audience, knowing that the planners and builders are greedily waiting in the wings, ready to knock down a small piece of theatre history. And replace with what, exactly? A car park, or a new branch of Lidl.

The Oldham Coliseum will live on in our memories; the Arts Council and Oldham Council can never erase that.

How Not to Drown is at Oldham Coliseum from 23 to 25 March 2023