“There is joy and hilarity in the horrors of the heteronormativity it explores”
Stephanie Martin’s play, ‘Thirsty’ is a heart-breaking and manic deep dive into the truth of going through a breakup in your late twenties as a queer woman.
We meet Sara, fresh out of a relationship, looking for a way to cope with the pain of being dumped by the woman she loves. She turns to the people around her for support, including her Bridget Jones-esque friendship group full of larger-than-life characters, who, despite having good intentions, don’t completely understand the intricacies of queer relationships or their fallout.
Louise Beresford as Sara immediately breaks the fourth wall and forms allyship with the audience, creating a Fleabag-style breakaway narrative that gives audiences an insight into the truth of Sara’s thoughts throughout the whole play. This, and other choices of form and dialogue, contribute to the beautiful and subtle nod to neurodivergence in the character, and create a sense of intimacy and trust between the players and the audience.
We meet a large array of side characters, multi-rolled by a talented cast made up of women and non-binary actors. A particular mention to Anna Spearpoint, who presents a showcase of comedic characters, one of which is the best friend of Sara. Her earnest and hilarious choices make for a memorable performance, and bring diversity through her accent and acting style. She is definitely one to watch.
This is a show made by queer people, for queer people. It also offers an indifferent truth to the reality of heartbreak which anyone can relate to, and displays how these experiences can be altered massively by the people around you. There is joy and hilarity in the horrors of the heteronormativity it explores, and it offers an insight into the queer world; its kinks, its language, and the marginalisation still present within it.
“Are you going to go back to dating men? Do I have to?”
It engages in a lively pace to keep the audiences invested and by the end, slightly exhausted by the moments and memories we explore – again, a realistic insight into the mind of the character taking us through the story. Scott Le Crass’ impeccable direction utilises tools such as flashback, dance and play with the space to create a contemporary and exciting performative world.
Stephanie Martin’s ability to create honest yet hilarious conversations drives this piece, and an audience finds itself settled into the tone of the piece within minutes. This is a show that knows exactly what it is. Jokes, puns, and punchlines are sprinkled throughout the entire script, catching an audience by surprise. Within a minute the show takes you from laughter to wiping a tear. It is a piece that is so real, those who can identify with it might find it slightly painful.
The joy that has come from Scott Le Crass’ play with the space, beams through the actors. It is one of the best intimate scenes I’ve seen played out on stage, and the actors didn’t even touch.
Thirsty is a queer heartbreak story, that teaches us about the lives of the characters we meet, and if you lean into it, will teach you something about yourself. It is also a reminder that even if something looks perfect from the outside, the reality can be far from it.
A perfect show for VAULT Festival, with a guaranteed life after this run.
“Burton’s brisk direction of the piece highlights Lewis’ striking performance”
In the course of history there has been much written about the role of music and its importance in our lives. Perhaps it is the greatest creation of mankind. The greatest form of expression. Among its countless attributes, most people discover – at some point or other – music to be a way to escape from the pain of life. Jasper Rees, the protagonist of the one-man, semi-autobiographical “I Found My Horn” would certainly, if reluctantly, agree. We meet Jasper as he climbs into the attic of his former home to sort out and pack up the last few pieces of a broken life. The attic (a superbly and evocatively created design by Alex Marker) is a cave of intimate nostalgia and memories. Divorce has driven him here, with a mid-life crisis for a back seat driver.
That all sounds pretty grim, but it is merely a starting point and, in the hands of Jonathan Guy Lewis as the luckless Jasper, the feelgood factor is off the scale during the ensuing eighty minutes of joyous, warm-hearted-theatre. Written by Lewis, with Jasper Rees, it is based on the latter’s book published in 2008. The pair teamed up with director Harry Burton to create the show which opened in London in 2009. Lewis’s character has grown older since then: the text has been slightly altered to accommodate the advancing years, but the sentiment, the meaning and the comedy are as powerful as ever.
Rather than finding the French horn in his attic, it is as though the horn has summoned Jasper. It speaks to him, begging to be freed from its dusty case and given back its purpose. They can help each other out here. It has been thirty-nine years since Jasper last picked it up and now, as he tentatively holds it in his hands, he regales us with the memories it triggers: and the renewed ambition it stirs up. He attends the British Horn Society’s annual concert and decides to play Mozart’s Horn Concerto No3 at the event the following year. He attends a ‘Horn Camp’ in America which simultaneously crushes and ignites his ambition. Meanwhile we are treated to flashbacks to his school days and humiliating moments in the orchestra. Lewis switches hilariously and seamlessly between all the characters that crowd his past and present, adopting mannerisms and accents that are spot-on. He has an astoundingly natural ability to make them heightened yet recognisable and real. Even the French horn itself is given an endearing personality. And, as Jasper, we instantly relate to the man, and to his dreams and regrets.
It is no spoiler to reveal that Jasper achieves his objective and is given a solo slot at the concert. It is his journey there that captivates us. Burton’s brisk direction of the piece highlights Lewis’ striking performance. We effortlessly perceive the complex layers inherent in the writing that in lesser hands might have been muddied. The horn itself is undoubtedly a metaphor – a kind of “Sparky’s Magic Piano” for grown-ups. Ultimately it is a very moving story, not just of making music, but of facing your demons. But it is best not to over analyse. Just revel in the humour and forget the symbolism. It is a joyous and heart-warming performance.
