No Place Like Home, written and performed by Alex Roberts, fuses music, dance, spoken word and video design to explore gay club culture and the impact of shame on queer identity and community. Roberts performs a visceral, lyrical text, telling the story of young gay man Connor who meets Rob, an older gay guy who works on the bar at a local club. Connor is fresh to the scene with less experience and is looking for guidance. Maybe Rob will be able to help with that. But having a healthy relationship with your sexuality and even potential partners is hard when the spaces you need are difficult to find.
Roberts’ text is beautifully nuanced, witty, funny and deeply emotional. He practically sings through parts of it, creating a lovely rapport with the audience. This pays off hugely as the story progresses and things become darker; more vulnerable. By the end of the show, Roberts’ face is smudged with tears; the music, movement and story all build to a difficult climax. Still, there is ambiguity in the text, and the show is less a preachy message singing to the converted, rather instead exploring the complexities of queer sex culture.
Video sometimes feels like an add-on, or a replacement for set which doesn’t always work, but that’s definitely not the case here. Virginie Taylor’s video design in this is superb. It’s a vital part of the storytelling. Human bodies dance and rave, immersing Roberts in the club space, with flashes of neon-coloured lights and sparkles. Roberts effortlessly transitions between the two central characters, the flick of his cap and adjustments to his voice and body language making the switch. Connor is light and vulnerable. Rob is tougher, more grounded and confident.
Underneath the smoke, and Jac Cooper’s electric sound design and composition, is an exploration of the play’s title; a question of what or where is home, as we witness Connor’s attempt to find it. At one moment, during the club’s stripping contest, Roberts removes his shorts and jacket to reveal a Dorothy dress underneath. The imagery of Dorothy clicking her heels appears at another moment, projected onto the background. It’s a clear motif that runs really nicely throughout the show.
At the risk of telling a story that’s been told many times before, Roberts avoids this by presenting something fresh, unique and totally compelling. He’s a brilliant storyteller, and the blend of artforms in this show makes it very special indeed.
Reviewed 10th August 2022
by Joseph Winer
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“this is a piece that deals with themes that have enduring relevance”
Call Me Vicky is sister duo Nicola and Stacey Bland’s debut play, set in the 1980s and following Vicky as she transitions from male to female. As well as being the brains behind the script, based entirely on a true story, the sisters perform in the show. We may now live in an arguably more understanding society compared to the 1980s, but this is a piece that deals with themes that have enduring relevance.
Much of the play is set in The Golden Girl drag club and as the audience enters the performance space, they are stamped to replicate entering a real club. The set (designed by Martha Hegarty) conforms to this well, with some audience members able to sit at tables on the edge of the stage, which are scattered with drinks glasses and leaflets. The intimate size of the performance space, as well as neon signs, adds to the club-like feel.
Family and friendship is at the heart of the play. Vicky (Matt Greenwood) and Mum, Sylvie (Wendi Peters), clearly share a close bond, with Sylvie’s concern for Vicky as she goes off out to the club with best friend Debbie (Nicola Bland) clearly displayed. The relationship between Vicky and Debbie is lovely to watch. They share banter, but also great care for one another, which is demonstrated particularly well during the play’s final scene.
Other characters include club waitress Gabby (Stacey Bland), club host Fat Pearl (Ben Welch) and Vicky’s love interest Sid (Adam Young). Stacey Bland’s Gabby is a likeable character and is easy to sympathise with in her struggles with drug addiction and motherhood. Ben Welch is entertaining as Fat Pearl, providing much of the play’s comedy. He has another minor role as an undercover policeman towards the end of the play, where he is really able to show his versatility in a hard-hitting scene with Matt Greenwood’s Vicky. Adam Young surprises as Sid. His punk-style costume suggests something quite different from the sympathetic, gentle character he goes on the play.
From an audience perspective, the play is best viewed facing straight on, with those of us sitting at the sides sometimes missing actors’ facial expressions and parts of their lines, due to them being blocked by their fellow actors. This was a minor annoyance and something to be considered, most notably in the more moving scenes of the play.
Directed by Victoria Gimby, Call Me Vicky is indeed a frank and revealing play. We gain a deeply personal insight into the life of somebody who wants to become the person they know themselves to truly be. This is made even more poignant through the knowledge the play is based on a true story. Although there are a few issues in terms of the set-up of the audience, this is an important piece of theatre, celebrating diversity and highlighting what it can take to stay true to ourselves.
