WEATHER GIRL
Soho Theatre
★★★½
“It has that kind of unhinged chaotic quality that has become an excellent currency for the funnies”
‘Weather Girl’, from the same producer (Francesca Moody) of ‘Baby Reindeer’ and ‘Fleabag’ fame, is a one-woman cyclone of unhinged peppiness and untethered feminine rage. And Julia McDermott, who plays Stacey Gross the ‘Weather Girl’, is increasingly engulfed by it, much like California itself, whose fires she reports on.
Directed by Tyne Rafaeli, ‘Weather Girl’ is essentially a 70-minute monologue charting Stacey’s psychotic breakdown. And yet, it’s hard not to identify with her derangement. As Stacey, looking like Elle Woods’ protégé, sips prosecco from her Stanley cup, numbing the drones of the male morons who surround her, her actions seem rather justified. The wilful ignorance of those around her abounds; no one respects her or pays her increasingly desperate statements seriously; the world is burning, and people are stupid: does her insanity not appear a hyper-normal response?
The weather Stacey reports on portends apocalypse, and yet, in the last few months in the real world, has become but more prescient. Her part of California, Fresno, is suffering frequent natural disaster-level fire, and drought is on the rampage. The feeling of divine retribution is explicit here.
Nothing about this production is erroneous or feels like a misstep. The staging (Isabella Byrd) is sparse, arranged with cameras and ring lights; it possesses a meta-quality. It’s versatile, complemented greatly by the lighting (and smoke machine) which manages to conjure pathetic fallacy at all turns– it is a show about weather, remember.
The lighting – with the aid of that smoke machine – obscures and darkens the stage as the show progresses, and a magical realism seeps in. I won’t divulge anything more, except that it involves a reunion with Stacey’s mother, who is homeless and usually high, but seems to possess a kind of witchy power that augments her vagabond otherness.
But despite its bleak messaging, ‘Weather Girl’ screams in dark humour. It has that kind of unhinged chaotic quality that has become an excellent currency for the funnies, especially when depicted by women.
One dramaturgical question did arise for me: having reviewed several one-person shows, I still question why? McDermott is wonderful, with constant command of the room, and working harmoniously with Brian Watkin’s nuanced script. But Aeschylus did introduce the second actor for a reason: I feel that rarely would a show’s quality be lessened by introducing a second actor. That said, whilst I don’t think ‘Weather Girl’ justified the one-person show, it certainly excelled within the framework. The Valley Girl accent does also feel a little akin to having pencils thrown at your face for an hour. But you soon get used to that.
‘Weather Girl’ is the kind of art that reaffirms that theatre is and can be polemical without being explicitly didactic or dogmatic. And the world is burning, literally, but just as much metaphorically. We should probably be reminded of that more often, because feeling untethered from reality is fast becoming a refuge of sanity.
WEATHER GIRL
Soho Theatre
Reviewed on 12th March 2025
by Violet Howson
Photography by Pamela Raith