“Ebony Jonelle and George Howard have a genuine chemistry that lifts the whole production”
Matthew Gabrielli’s debut play certainly doesn’t shy away from the relevant and prevalent: Internet trolling, arguments for free speech, and cancel culture are all batted back and forth, changing hands between those that suffer and thrive under the harsh rule of social media, and those that perpetuate the worst of it.
Our troll is a giant papier-mache Punch puppet- unsurprisingly named Mr. Punch. And having spotted a selfie in which our protagonists, Sophie and Jamie, have unintentionally included a floral tribute for a dead child in the background, Mr Punch decides to try and ruin their lives.
There’s both not enough and too much being dealt with in this 90-minute straight-through. Most of the plot is fairly predictable, pointing out the injustice and cruelty of the internet, the very real effect it can have on your life. On the other hand, Gabrielli tries to touch on white privilege, sexism, classism, the ineffectiveness of the police, amongst other things, and there just isn’t time.
The use of puppets definitely adds to the production value, but it takes something away from the story itself. While I understand they facilitate a big reveal of Mr Punch’s true identity, the moment comes far too late, so there isn’t really enough time to understand him- we’re given to acknowledge that he’s a multifaceted person who’s done a lot of good, who has people he loves. But ultimately, he doesn’t seem too dissimilar to his puppet likeness.
All that said, Ebony Jonelle and George Howard have a genuine chemistry that lifts the whole production, and notwithstanding Howard’s Jamie having a slightly unbelievable character arc, their relationship rings true throughout. They’re funny and teasing, and despite being from different backgrounds, they seem to understand each other. Or at least they want to.
Delyth Evans’ stage design amounts to three lots of sheer curtains, a set of double doors, and a couple of stacking boxes. But the simplicity is quite elegant, creating various spaces and atmospheres with very little changed.
There’s a lot that’s good about this production; it’s very close to feeling important and urgent even, but the script wants a thorough going-over.
“a well-crafted piece of theatrical storytelling … nourishing, and created with a great deal of heart and soul”
Eating Myself is an autobiographical/confessional monologue, written and performed by Pepa Duarte. Pepa is Peruvian, and the storytelling centres around her preparation of a hearty Peruvian soup. She chops and stirs and adds ingredients, and all the while the big soup tureen sits on the hob bubbling away. It is a visceral and frequently painful piece which, for the most part, examines Pepa’s deeply troubling relationship with food, but also leads to an exploration of her relationship with her female identity and, finally, a deeper understanding and celebration of her Peruvian heritage. In live performance, the slowly-cooking soup would clearly provide a kind of aromatic underscore, which would frequently be in sharp sensual counterpoint to the self-imposed culinary controls and deprivations Pepa re-enacts.
Unlike some other online theatrical experiences which have been available during the pandemic – most notably Jermyn Street Theatre’s 15 Heroines – Eating Myself is clearly a live show filmed, as opposed to a piece created for the small screen. It was ably filmed using more than one camera, meaning that cuts and close-ups enhanced our streaming experience, and Tom Sochas’ composition and sound design also served the experience well, as did the wonderful creative costume elements. Ultimately though, it was impossible not to want more, and to yearn to be breathing the same air and sharing the same smells and space as the performer, especially one as naturally engaging as Pepa, who invites intimacy, and exudes warmth. She is also a very expressive physical artist, and uses her body with grace, power and beauty throughout.
Certain sections of the script could use a bit of an edit – the show would benefit from being 10 minutes shorter – but this was a well-crafted piece of theatrical storytelling, and, like the soup at its centre, nourishing, and created with a great deal of heart and soul.
