You may have met Ariel first, but Marvellous Machine’s new play Morveren seeks to sink that spineless mermaid for good. It repositions Disney’s version of the once formidable creature within the wider context of myth. We are reminded through Cornish legends that mermaids were not always lured onto land by a Prince rich in material goods and earthly status, losing their voices in the process. Instead, sirens once persuaded Cornish men to enter into the sea using their song. Sometimes they shared their home, sometimes they turned it into a death trap. Emerging from Kate Webster’s absorbing play is a message - women can be monetarily rich, but voiceless and untethered, or rich in ancestral networks, both empowered and rooted. It is a point thoroughly and precisely made through tailored, effective dialogue.

Charlotte Blandford embodies the sceptical Keren, who does not wish to be reinitiated into such networks by her grandmother, played by Alessandra Perotto. Understandably so – these support systems required her parents to risk (and forfeit) their lives in a vessel rescue. Morwen takes her offspring’s turbulent rebuttals like a lighthouse weathers a tough storm – calmly and unwaveringly. Perotto does well to exude the air of one who knows she will eventually win, frequently delivering amusingly blunt, common-sense antidotes to Disney-lore, despite Keren’s firm threatening to sell off the very land beneath her feet. Morwen’s song is one of sorrow and healing, which insists that taking care of others through community is of the utmost importance when facing life’s dangers. She seeks to protect what is being eroded - ties easily splinter in the face of outpriced locals. Meanwhile, Keren’s daughter, Ellie, offers another antidote to Keren’s capitalist outlook. Aysha Niwaz adeptly portrays the girl’s innocent wonder at the new narratives a female-led community can offer, and she does so with authenticity and flamboyance.

Keren finds herself reckoning with the person she became in order to be taken half-seriously in the investment industry. Why fight so hard for recognition when you can be instantly taken seriously in a community which has relied on women’s skill since men first took off in boats? Blandford uses body language to great effect when depicting Keren’s conversion. Her use of corporate postures and a deep, R.P. voice when speaking to male colleagues eventually transitions to firmer language spoken in feminine, Cornish tones, reflecting Keren’s new commitment to mediate and honour instead of to silence. Keren used to envy men who made an office part ‘like the sea’, but the poignant reuse of this metaphor later in the play seeks to suggest that respect has greater value than fear and greed. Noticeably, audience members are invited to reflect on Keren’s acceptance when they are addressed as if they are members of the town meeting.

There were production hiccups and peculiar pathways half-implied. The otherwise atmospheric music disrupted itself when inadequately faded or left to drown out the actors’ words. Some of Morwen’s odes to insular networks seemed almost xenophobic. And on one level, the entire play seems to suggest women should not dream outside of their inherited networks because their sense of self will be lost, as if ‘self’ is always defined by having a ‘hometown’.

But Morveren is a play which demands reflection on feminine power - its source, erosion and future. The script is clear in both its vision and execution. Blandford conveys Keren’s personality and metamorphosis seamlessly, whilst brief glimpses of enacted mythology are made more mysterious by beautifully transportive piano refrains. It’s worth a watch, especially if you are interested in what myth still has to offer the modern woman.