FLUSH

Arcola Theatre

★★★★

“Entertaining, funny, surprising and moving”

There is no shortage of information out there on the internet that helps answer the question of ‘why women always go to the bathroom together’ (I discovered this through transient research rather than any questionable curiosity). Top of the list is company and gossip, swiftly followed by checking appearance and helping each other with hair, make up or wardrobe malfunctions. It also acts as a confessional box. At other times it is the fear of missing out; and then the opposite – to break away from the crowd. A shelter. Occasionally it is a great way to get to know somebody better. Perhaps even intimately. But an often-overlooked reason is safety in numbers. Protection – for each other and themselves.

All of these, and more, are explored in April Hope Miller’s fast-moving and wonderfully constructed one-act play “Flush”. Set entirely within the bathroom of an East London nightclub, we get a thorough and breathtaking glimpse of lives falling apart, rebuilding, or both. Every pertinent issue today is touched upon including same-sex attraction, social media, drug addiction, eating disorders, anxiety, depression, cosmetic surgery, peer pressure, body shaming, underage drinking, motherhood, fidelity, misogyny, mental health, isolation, gender-based violence, abuse, verbal and physical assault… the list goes on. It all sounds too much – yet after a rapid-fire seventy-five minutes we are still left wanting more. It isn’t a feminist play by any means – the writing is too refined and mature for that. It is an often witty and sharp observation of ‘sisterhood’ in all its glory (and disgrace… in the best way possible); hilarious, shocking but also moving and tender.

Perhaps there are too many characters for us to keep up with. A cast of five are given the unenviable task of wrapping their hearts, minds and bodies around sixteen diverse women. Despite impossibly rapid costume changes it is initially difficult to tell some of them apart. But like a stranger in a strange place, we eventually start putting names to faces, and we develop sympathies and antipathies in equal number. Billie (Jazz Jenkins) is our ally. She is the outsider, trying to fit in, trying not to fall apart. Trying to understand what is happening to her and to those around her. Jenkins (the only cast member to portray just one individual character) gives a first-class performance, hovering between diffidence and daring, shock and disbelief, witnessing everything from behind a mask that is slipping rapidly. We wonder what is going on with Billie. Revelations, when they come, are delivered by Jenkins with heartrending honesty and natural, genuine emotion.

Meanwhile, all facets of femininity crash in and out of the cubicles with whirlwind frequency. Performed with an almost unfailing credibility, April Hope Miller, Ayesha Griffiths, Miya Ocego and Joanna Strafford cover a cross section of humanity: two decades of burgeoning hormones from teens to thirty-somethings; office parties, hen parties, first dates, last dates, reunions, coincidences, alliances and discords. They capture each character with emotional and practical realism. Ocego convinces as a sixteen-year-old before becoming a slightly jaded office worker in fancy dress as an angel for her insufferable colleagues. Strafford switches from the anxious and nervous anorexic to the closet lesbian (Hope Miller avoids the often dismissive ‘bi-curious’ label) with ease; while Griffiths takes authenticity to new heights with her stage presence. A natural performer, she is equally persuasive as a cocaine-addict or a mother, aunt or devil-horned temptress. Writer Hope Miller is a wonderful channel for her own humour. Caustic and funny throughout, her stand-out portrayal as the hen party’s maid of honour finds rich sensitive ground. The final scenes between her and Jenkins’ broken Bille have a fragility that belies the strength of the writing.

There are many more personalities that frequent this bathroom. Too many to mention. But amid the excellent performances, the writing itself takes centre stage. There are neat cross references to events, dialogue and characters off stage. Merle Wheldon directs with an intrinsic grasp of the text, ensuring the easy flow of the overlapping, yet clearcut, dialogue. Ellie Wintour’s set provides a realistic context – all porcelain and Perspex and neon lit graffiti – complemented by Yanni Ng’s sound, Aaron Miller’s and Rob Wheatley’s (Jacana People) music and Jack Hathaway’s lighting, that all slip into moments of surrealism, particularly when we start to get under Billie’s skin to see the truth.

“Flush” is a quite vital play. Entertaining, funny, surprising and moving. Hope Miller recognises the importance of laughter without diminishing the importance of what we are laughing about.

FLUSH

Arcola Theatre

Reviewed on 8th May 2026

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Alex Brenner

FLUSH

★★★

“the young actresses all show impressive range in their multi-rolling”

Flush is a cross section of one night in the women’s toilets of a Hackney club. Fast paced and wide-ranging, it offers a kaleidoscopic view of the female hivemind anno 2025.

With fourteen characters, it’s an ambitious script. Most are part of groups, including a flock of giddy underaged girls, office workers out on the town, and a cow-themed hen do. April Hope Miller, who also wrote the piece, shines as a diabolical maid of honour, while Ayesha Griffiths harvests many a laugh as a woman who is considering how to rid herself of her disappointing Hinge date. Jazz Jenkins convincingly portrays the play’s central character, Billie, a recent immigrant from the US who gets assaulted by the manager at her new job. Aided by quick-changing lights (Jack Hathaway) and club-inspired music (Yanni Ng, Jacana People), director Merle Wheldon crafts a cinematic depiction of Billie’s trauma-and-ketamine-induced haze, as clubgoers swirl around her in fast motion. In Flush, there are as many themes as characters, and perhaps there are too many of both – that being said, the young actresses all show impressive range in their multi-rolling.

The play’s central premise is the singularity of women’s toilets as a space that enables raw interactions between women from all walks of life. In the dialogue, references to the characters outside of the bathroom effectively conjure up a world beyond the stage, which underlines the physical distinctiveness of the female lavatories. But how, and why, these toilets and that wider world differ remains underexplored in the script, leaving the question of space and separation somewhat neglected. Additionally, I was surprised that, despite the inclusion of a trans character, the script did not address the question of who ‘belongs’ in the ‘women’s’ bathroom, an issue which has become increasingly debated in recent years and would lend the piece more urgency.

On stage, there is a similar lack of precision regarding the female toilet as a physical space. The omission of walls and doors from the three toilets on stage preserves visibility, but the difference between the inside and the outside of a cubicle is crucial, exemplified the various characters that ‘hide’ in the toilet. This separation within the lavatory could have easily been created through lights or careful blocking, but unfortunately, it’s mostly unclear where the cubicle ends and the sink area begins. Additionally, few of the characters use the lavatory for its primary purpose: the loos are generally used as seats, and no one washes or dries their hands, leaving the blocking static at times.

Perhaps overly ambitious, Flush offers an (early) afternoon of feminist entertainment that leaves you looking forward to your next visit to that complicated sanctuary known as the female bathrooms.

Tag Archives: Ayesha Griffiths

FLUSH

★★★★

Arcola Theatre

FLUSH

Arcola Theatre

★★★★

“Entertaining, funny, surprising and moving”