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

★★★★

“a heartfelt tribute to one of the greats”

Biographical dramas are not uncommon on the theatre scene, and in the wrong hands they can become quite dull affairs. Oliver Kaderbhai’s exploration of the jazz genius Miles Davies is, without a doubt, in the right hands (in fact co-star Jay Phelps often plays the trumpet with just his right hand, leaving his left to knock out some modular chords on the piano). Kaderbhai doesn’t just pull back the curtain on Miles Davies himself, but he manages to get some way inside his head and convey the creative process of his work – in particular ‘Kind of Blue’ – the 1959 studio album recorded in two sessions with a band of the most acclaimed musicians of the time. With only rough sketches as guidelines, the tracks were laid down in one take. No score – just vague chord structures (this is modal jazz, after all). Almost wholly improvised.

“Miles” retains that improvised feel. But it is intentional, and similarly dazzlingly polished. At its core is an imagined conversation between Miles Davies (Benjamin Akintuyosi) and trumpeter Jay Phelps, but the exchange extends to a tête-à-tête between the man and his music. We are drawn into the life of Davies, reliving the experiences that shaped his art. The racism, segregation, the newfound freedom of Paris. The defiance, the hardships and the battles with addiction.

On entering the space, we feel we are wandering into a basement studio. A grand piano is centre stage, with a reel-to-reel tape recorder. Draped across the piano is a figure, motionless – until the houselights fade, when the resurrections begins. Phelps, who came up with the concept, plays a modern-day jazz musician, struggling to compose an album under pressure from his record company to meet a deadline. Akintuyosi is Miles – not just a ghostly incarnation but a fully-formed mentor and conscience to Phelps. The air is as hazy as Miles’ chain-smoking habit, but the depiction of the characters cuts through like crystal. Akintuyosi perfectly captures the ragged and raspy voice and no-nonsense directness of Miles. “Why are you playing so many notes?” are his first words to Phelps. He guides with a hard hand, but we also see the inner struggles, and the moments of self-doubt that geniuses are often pray to. It is a stylish and stylised performance, demonstrating his physical dexterity too.

Phelps is a virtuoso trumpeter in his own right. He is learning from Miles, but soaks up the same self-doubt. There is no need for his diffidence, we think, as we are treated to his musicianship, playing along to recorded backing tracks of the music from ‘Kind of Blue’. The atmosphere is electric. Alex Lewer’s lighting enhances the mood while Colin J Smith’s video projections introduce other musical giants of the era: Charlie parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Bill Evans, John Coltrane. The story telling is peppered with musical flourishes and stylistic overtones. Peripheral characters are represented by costumes on their hangers; a newborn baby is a puppet in a boxing glove. And the depiction of Miles spiralling into cold turkey is quite shocking, with Akintuyosi clinging onto the piano as it spins out of control. Fragments of his trumpet crash to the floor.

The pieces are left on the ground, but the story is picked up again with renewed energy and an irresistible optimism. As Phelps finds his own voice, the need for Miles fades, yet the legacy is by now firmly embedded. Left alone centre stage, he launches into Thelonious Monk’s ‘Round Midnight’ with a contemporary looped rhythm accompaniment. The mix of the old and the new is mesmerising as the notes float into the air.

Jazz fans will no doubt reap the most satisfaction from this show, but it in no way alienates the wider audience. Everybody who sees it will come away wanting to listen to ‘Kind of Blue’, and then hopefully branch out to discover more of Miles Davies’ output. This isn’t a history lesson; it is a heartfelt tribute to one of the greats.

Tag Archives: Ellie Wintour

FLUSH

★★★★

Arcola Theatre

FLUSH

Arcola Theatre

★★★★

“Entertaining, funny, surprising and moving”