“Mind Full is funny, but sometimes feels uncertain”
This intimate comedy takes a look at two universal frustrations: struggling to sleep and struggling to get over someone.
James (Tom Hartwell) is a self-diagnosed insomniac. He knows he is because he Googled it at 4am. He hasn’t slept well since his terrible break up, six months ago. In his desperation he turns to mindfulness apps. But his ex is a thriving voiceover actor. He can’t get her voice out of his head. Or his headphones. At first it seems to be just him who’s struggling, but we soon learn Claire (Katherine Moran) can’t sleep either. The former couple cycle through memories of their failed relationship as they struggle to move on and find some much needed shut eye.
We’re welcomed into the bedroom, with the space being dominated by a large double bed, and off to the side, a microphone. Conor Cook’s direction really pays off here, as the microphone creates the world of the couple’s respective work (voice acting and stand-up comedy) and the bed creates their private world. The interference and sabotage between these worlds, sometimes funny, sometimes moving, works well to show the crumbling of the relationship.
It’s a funny idea, and there are moments where it really takes off There’s a long bit where James comments on all of the places he hears Claire’s voice – apps, supermarket checkouts, train announcements – and what she might be saying to him (lots of jokes at the expense of his sexual prowess). The script, written by Tom Hartwell, who also plays James, is packed with gags. At times though the comedy takes priority, to the detriment of emotional truth. To be fair, sometimes that’s the point. The play deals with questions around comedy, and how much of your own life, and the lives of people you love, is fair game. As with any piece which incorporates stand-up, it does raise the question of how much of it is meant to be funny. There is a mortifying moment where James fluffs it at Live at the Apollo, made weirder by the taped in applause of a fake audience, leaving the real audience a little uncertain of our place in the show.
There is real chemistry between Hartwell and Moran, and the early stages of their relationship are charming. Moran is particularly strong, making a potentially whiny character, warm, hilarious and totally reasonable. Hartwell is also very funny, and his comic timing is impeccable.
The simple lighting (Jonathan Simpson) and sound (Conor Cook) help to create the private bubble of this couple’s life.
Mind Full is funny, but sometimes feels uncertain. It’s not quite stand-up, and not quite plot focussed narrative, at times it verges on sketch comedy. But it’s enjoyable, fast-paced and well-performed.
“Wilson and Bain are remarkable, deftly switching between the comedy and the subtler, more poignant moments”
Linck and Mülhahn is billed as an epic romance inspired by the true story of an 18th century gender pioneer. I expected it to be an interesting story, and an important one. What I did not expect, was for it to be funny. But funny it is. Very funny.
Much of this is down to Ruby Thomas’ script, which is both witty and bawdy, full of inuendo, and lightning-fast flirting. Owen Horsley’s direction pumps the play with energy, and it races along, aided by punk rock scene transitions by sound designer Max Pappenheim. Despite the heavy subject matter, the play rushes along with zest and spirit.
All that survives of this true story are the court transcripts, documenting Anastasius Linck’s life and their gender non-conformity. Ruby Thomas has framed this story as a romance between Linck and Catharina Mülhahn. There are shades of the screwball comedies in these lovers’ fast-paced flirtation. Both are radical, passionate about the contemporary political philosophy and enjoy a racy joke. Their sizzling romance begins with the feisty young Mülhahn (Helena Wilson) gawping at the dashing Linck (Maggie Bain) through a window. Her unabashed lust, and boldness, is refreshing in a period drama. Throughout the play the dialogue crackles out from the era, making the characters feel so real, it’s easy to forget they’re all long dead.
Both Wilson and Bain are remarkable, deftly switching between the comedy and the subtler, more poignant moments. A particular highlight of both performances is a quiet scene where they bathe one another. Their chemistry and connection are the heart of the play and there is no doubt that these two belong together.
Another stand-out performance is from Lucy Black, as Mülhahn’s mother. It’s a fascinating character, she is bitter, trapped in her internalised conventionality but hopelessly bored and lonely. Black seamlessly navigates the complexity of this role, making her at once both a villain and a victim of her own era.
Simon Wells’ set is modern and evocative. It is a revolving two-storey structure made of veiled screens and doors, which often light up in different colours, courtesy of lighting designer Matt Daw. This creates an illusion of privacy in more intimate scenes, but also the sense that their privacy is as flimsy as the screens themselves.
There are moments where the comedy muddles the emotional punch, especially in the second half. There is also a narrator, which at times feels melodramatic, and unnecessary given the strength of the story itself.
But it is a great story, and this play has spun it in a way which feels fresh, and vibrant. This is not the story of a downtrodden victim. It is the bold and unapologetic cry to leave shame behind and live your own truth.
