Luke Hereford’s solo autobiographical show is a musical journey through his life growing up in Wales, discovering his queerness, and his relationship with his nan, who also happens to be his number one fan, and his best friend. Set at her ninetieth birthday party, Hereford is joined on stage by pianist Bobby Harding, who accompanies them with a soundtrack of Kylie, Kate Bush, and Meet Me in St Louis.
There’s a lot to admire in the show. It’s sort of fabulously chaotic, a little bit messy, which kind of suits the tone as Hereford plays dress up with items from his grandmother’s onstage wardrobe. It’s old fashioned, the insides patterned with pale pink florals. On the other side of the stage is a dressing table, draped with a few bits of Nan’s jewellery and perfume bottles; a hollow mirror, which Harding pokes their head behind, sat at the piano. Hereford narrates stories of his first time at pride (with Nan providing the lube and condoms), and their trip to Broadway together, to see eight shows in five days. But Nan, as later revealed, has dementia. And it’s heartbreaking for Hereford, and us, to see her memories fading. She’s his biggest icon. But, as he eventually realises, ‘even if your memory fades, I’ll always have them, even if you don’t’.
The musical numbers and staging are generally a bit all over the place. Hereford doesn’t have the strongest vocals, and sometimes loses control of the performance as he tries to get through the songs. He’s certainly very committed to the act, which is commendable, but some tighter direction or choreography could really help give each of the segments a bit more purpose. In one section he sort of waves a large white sheet around, and I’m not really sure what’s happening.
The action of trying to get the lipstick on properly, and then finally getting it right, gives the show a really nice overall character arc. We feel by the end that Hereford does now have what they need to be their true self, even if Nan isn’t around anymore in the way she used to be. A messy first half turns into a touching second, but the show as a whole needs quite a bit of tidying up to become something really special.
Reviewed 13th August 2022
by Joseph Winer
Photography by Kirsten McTernan
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FEELING AFRAID AS IF SOMETHING TERRIBLE IS GOING TO HAPPEN at Edinburgh Festival Fringe
★★★★★
“exciting, original and very funny”
Samuel Barnett plays a stand-up comedian in his Edinburgh debut performance of Marcelo Dos Santos’s new play. He’s thirty-six, which he reassures us is fine in a tone of voice which suggests it’s maybe not. He’s incredibly neurotic, hopelessly single, spending his days scrolling through headless torsos on Grindr and working on his stand-up routines. Every so often we’re treated to a new gag, which range from jokes about Wetherspoons to feeling like you’re going to die if there’s blood in your cum to having the urge to crush a kitten to death with your bare hands. I think Barnett proves that any joke can be funny if the delivery is done right. At one point he even deconstructs the delivery of a perfect joke: the rule of three, alliteration, words which suddenly become funny when juxtaposed with something unexpected. I’m a bit of a nerd for writing theory so loved this bit. As the play plays with form itself, in a stand-up routine which becomes theatre (or vice-versa), it’s very interested in the masking of one form with the other, just as the character masks his underlying anxieties with his jokes.
But when he meets a new man known only as the ‘American’, his jokes just aren’t going to cut it. The American has an uncommon medical conditions where laughing could literally kill him. So he can’t laugh at any of his jokes, even though he reassures him he really does find them funny. Barnett’s character – who doesn’t seem to be given a name – ends up jeopardising the relationship, the first proper relationship of his thirty-six years, and the story ends on a brilliant punchline, which we realise it’s been working towards from quite early on. It’s great.
Barnett’s timing, of both the comedy and the desperation, is impeccable. He’s on full speed from the moment the lights go up and it feels like he hardly stops from breath. And then the moments he does, the moments when he drops the mic and lets us really hear him, we cling on to, hoping we might find some truths, hoping we might be trusted enough to let him be vulnerable for a moment. Matthew Xia’s direction astutely sets the pace of Santos’s text, and works brilliantly to ensure Barnett connects with each and every person in the audience as he whizzes around the stage. It very much feels like we’re at a comedy gig in the way Barnett forms his rapport with us. He rolls his eyes and we feel like rolling ours with him. Each expression and tiny gesture is carefully timed and delivered. We’re totally there with him and his frustrations at the American for not getting slapstick, and other British cultural references. The whole performance is totally captivating.
At the heart of the story, of the jokes, is a comedian, a man in his mid-thirties, living in London and feeling incredibly lonely. And when someone sees this for what it is, he struggles to decide whether or not he can let himself open up. We don’t really find out what happens in the end, but the final gag we’re left with suggests there probably is quite a bit of hope for this character. It’s an exciting, original and very funny new play, with a magnificent, five-star performance from Barnett at the helm.
Reviewed 12th August 2022
by Joseph Winer
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