The Girl on the Train makes a chillingly effective transition from page to stage in this tight, moody adaptation that plays out like a psychological pressure cooker. Condensed from Paula Hawkins’ bestselling novel into a single narrative thread, the play loses none of its intrigue. Instead, it distils the original material into a raw, visceral experience that feels purpose-built for theatre: immediate, claustrophobic and emotionally bruising.
At its heart is Rachel Watson, played here with searing honesty and unflinching physicality by Louisa Lytton. The role demands vulnerability, unpredictability and a kind of self-loathing charisma – and Lytton delivers all three. Rachel is not a heroine; she’s messy, unstable, often unlikable. But she is never anything less than real. We see her veer from delusion to despair, clinging to scraps of memory like life rafts. Her descent isn’t romanticised – it’s raw and sometimes difficult to watch. But it’s never hollow. Every stumble, every slurred word or pained silence feels earned. Even in her most chaotic moments, Rachel maintains a jagged integrity that keeps us with her.
Surrounding her is a tight ensemble who each bring layered psychological texture to their roles. Jason Merrells plays Tom Watson with unnerving subtlety – a smiling, steady presence who slowly reveals the manipulative cruelty beneath. His scenes with Rachel are among the tensest in the show, especially as he twists her own doubts against her in a gut-churning final confrontation.
Zena Carswell’s Anna is brittle and guarded, never reduced to a caricature of the ‘new wife’. There’s a quiet complexity to her performance – her clipped civility often giving way to something darker, hinting at the compromises she’s made to maintain the illusion of control.
Natalie Dunne’s Megan avoids the trap of becoming a plot device. In the few moments we spend with her, she is fully human – guarded, seductive, deeply wounded. Her presence haunts the production, not just as a missing person, but as someone who longed to be seen and understood.
And then there’s Paul McEwan as DI Gaskill, who becomes the anchor of the show. In a production full of volatility, his performance is a study in restraint. McEwan plays the detective not as a procedural stock character, but as a man who is earnest, grounded and compellingly real. His quiet persistence and concern without sentimentality give the audience someone to trust when trust is in short supply.
Loveday Ingram’s direction embraces unease rather than spectacle. She allows moments to breathe – even the silences feel heavy, loaded with unspoken truths. Scene transitions are slick but never rushed. The pacing is confident and deliberate, letting psychological tension ferment slowly before bursting.
Visually, the production walks the line between minimalism and innovation. The set consists primarily of three large projection screens that shift between Rachel’s flat, the view from a train window, or a fractured recollection of events. It’s a versatile choice that creates a sense of constant movement – appropriate for a story driven by uncertainty and dislocation. These screens also act as emotional amplifiers: the flicker of streetlights across Rachel’s face, the oppressive blur of train stations, the slow dissolve into a memory.
The lighting design is restrained but powerful, dominated by cold, clinical hues. Shadows loom large – characters literally vanish into darkness. And when warmth appears, it often deceives. It’s a visual metaphor for the play’s central themes: what we choose to see and what we miss in the process.
The sound design is immersive and evocative. The low rumble of trains, distorted voices from memory and the sudden thump of violence are all deployed with precise timing. It’s a psychological soundscape as much as a physical one, mirroring Rachel’s disoriented mind without overwhelming it.
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What makes this production so effective isn’t any single element – it’s how all its components cohere around the central emotional truths. It is not a neat whodunnit. The resolution, though satisfying, is less about solving a puzzle than understanding the people within it. This play is about coercion, vulnerability, self-doubt and the slow erosion of a person’s grasp on reality. Disquieting, immersive and quietly devastating, The Girl on the Train doesn’t ask you to solve the mystery – it dares you to feel it.
The Girl on the Train, The Alexandra, Birmingham
Adapted by Rachel Wagstaff and Duncan Abel from the novel by Paula Hawkins
Director: Loveday Ingram
Set and Costume Designer: Adam Wiltshire
Lighting Designer: Jack Knowles
Sound Designer: Elizabeth Purnell
Video Designer: Dan Light
Composer: Paul Englishby
Assistant Director: Rachel Heyburn
Costumer Supervisor: Marion Harrison
Intimacy Director: Ian West
Cast: Louisa Lytton (to 31 May), Laura Whitmore (3 June to 30 August), Zena Carswell, Samuel Collings, Natalie Dunne, Ellie Gallmore, Paul McEwan, Jason Merrells, Daniel Burke, Ellie Gallimore, Oliver Joseph Brooke
The Girl on the Train was performed at the Alexandra Theatre until 3 May 2025 and will now tour nationally to the end of August.
