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Easy

Easy

★★★

Blue Elephant Theatre

Easy

Easy

Blue Elephant Theatre

Reviewed – 14th November 2019

★★★

 

“an important play that intuitively understands the struggles of being a teenager in a toxic, image-focused society”

 

Alice is sixteen and eagerly waiting for something exciting to happen to her. Something that involves Fit Jamie from maths; something that proves she isn’t being left behind. But when something does happen, it is neither as exciting, nor as good, as she hoped it would be. It is something difficult. Something with consequences.

Amy Blakelock’s examination of social media, sex and teenage anxiety has all the elements of a good story: a likeable protagonist, a compelling narrative, and a shocking twist. Blakelock tells this story using an authentic teenage voice. Aspects sound a little artificial, but are mostly pertinent and always entertaining. The early parts of her script are full of faux maturity, sprinkled with clichés about how GCSEs can’t be all that – ‘Dad only got one O Level, and that was in woodwork’ – and the definitive list of what men (read: teenage boys) want. Blakelock effectively deepens these themes as the story grows darker, forcing the audience to reflect on the damage that such highly promoted ideals can do.

Robyn Wilson is endearing as Alice, full of energy and openness that makes her easy to connect with. Her delivery is subtly humorous in its naïveté, but still ripples with emotional honesty. The highlight of Wilson’s performance is her portrayal of Alice’s response to the event, in which these ripples become torrents that chill the observer.

Another aspect that deserves praise is Verity Johnson’s set, which acts as a clever metaphor for the themes of openness and shame. Four white platforms and a set of lockers become hiding places for painful aspects of the past that lie in wait until Alice is ready to reclaim them.

The main issue is the pace of the show: whilst it creates a character arc and a satisfying conclusion, this comes at the expense of close examination. There are several aspects of this story that I feel could have been expanded on. It would have been interesting, for example, to see the consequences faced not only by Alice, but by the perpetrators. Even this moment in Alice’s story feels a little vague, as her interactions with teachers, counsellors and the police pass us by in quick succession. I think it would have been beneficial to interrogate how schools deal with events like this, and whether or not the outcome really reflects the seriousness of the crime. It would also have explained Alice’s new found wisdom, which Wilson beautifully exhibits in the final scene.

Despite its flaws, Easy is an important play that intuitively understands the struggles of being a teenager in a toxic, image-focused society. Whilst it may seem to be a play for teenage girls about teenage girls, it is key that this kind of story reaches everyone, so that we can, as a whole, understand the implications of this toxicity on young people today.

 

Reviewed by Harriet Corke

Photography by Will Alder

 


Easy

Blue Elephant Theatre until 23rd November

 

Previously reviewed at this venue:
Sisyphus Distressing | ★★★★ | March 2018
Boxman | ★★★★ | July 2018
Alice: The Lost Chapter | ★★★★★ | October 2018
My Brother’s Drug | ★★★ | October 2018
Bost Uni Plues | ★★★★ | November 2018
Canary | ★★★½ | November 2018
Nofilter | ★★★ | November 2018

 

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Armadillo
★★★★

The Yard Theatre

Armadillo

Armadillo

The Yard Theatre

Reviewed – 5th June 2019

★★★★

 

“at an unsettling, anxiety-inducing pitch, the play takes us to the darkest corners of our society”

 

In small town America, Sam (Michelle Fox) and her husband John (Mark Quartley) have a thing for guns. ‘Thing’ as in obsession: they can’t leave the house or sleep without one. ‘Thing’ also as in fetish: the cold steel plays a prominent role in their sex life. Sam was kidnapped when she was thirteen. Someone with a gun rescued her. Guns are her comfort and her safety.

But one night, John accidentally shoots Sam in the arm during a sex game, and they decide to cut guns out of their lives completely. This is easier said than done when Sam’s brother Scotty (Nima Taleghani) comes to stay with a full arsenal, and the news reports a local girl, Jessica, has been kidnapped. All of Sam’s unresolved emotions come flooding back. Under the pressure, cracks spread through Sam and John’s marriage, Sam’s mental stability, and their gun-abstinence pact.

Far from being simple gun control propaganda, Sarah Kosar’s Armadillo is bold enough to delve into an issue most of us want to see as black and white. At an unsettling, anxiety-inducing pitch, the play takes us to the darkest corners of our society: where young girls are kidnapped, sexually abused, and murdered. Where even the staunchest anti-gun activists might catch themselves thinking, ‘if I’d had a gun…’

The design team submerges us into the nightmare, creating a paranoid fever-dream of flashing neon lights and pulsing, hallucinatory blackouts (Jessica Hung Han Yun), sharp sounds (Anna Clock), and disrupted media projections (Ash J Woodward). Like ticking bombs, the constant, ominous presence of guns keeps the audience on edge throughout the ninety minutes. Stuffed in couch cushions, under pillows, in the freezer, firearms are littered throughout Jasmine Swan’s clever, intriguing set. Raised platforms display a deconstructed house (a mattress, a toilet), encircled by calf-deep water.

Kosar impressively interrogates the complexity of Sam’s trauma as she struggles with whether she’s justified in being as damaged as she is. “Nothing really even happened!” people love telling her, since her kidnapper threatened but never touched her. However, John and Scotty are noticeably shallower characters. The dialogue between the three of them is uneven, awkward, and unnatural, which carries over into Fox, Quartley, and Taleghani’s delivery. It may be a stylistic choice by Kosar and director Sara Joyce as part of the uncomfortable, surreal aesthetic, but the stilted lines prevent the characters (even Sam) from feeling like real people, which makes them difficult to connect with.

There’s plenty of sharp observation in the play’s themes of addiction, enabling (and the guilt that motivates it), coping with trauma, toxic relationships, fetishising violence, and self-destructive behaviour. Armadillos famously jump when scared, which often results in them being hit by cars that would have harmlessly passed over them. Their defence ironically puts them in more danger. It’s a shrewd analogy for the way Americans reach for automatic weapons in search of safety.

 

Reviewed by Addison Waite

Photography by Maurizio Martorana

 


Armadillo

The Yard Theatre until 22nd June

 

Previously reviewed at this venue:
Hotter Than A Pan | ★★★★ | January 2019
Plastic Soul | ★★★★ | January 2019
A Sea Of Troubles | ★★★★★ | February 2019
Cuteness Forensics | ★★½ | February 2019
Sex Sex Men Men | ★★★★★ | February 2019
To Move In Time | ★★½ | February 2019
Ways To Submit | ★★★★ | February 2019

 

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