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

★★★

“full of wonderful dialogue and astute observation”

In the original 1888 play, “Miss Julie”, by August Strindberg, the three hander is supplemented by the offstage presence of a fourth character – Miss Julie’s father – whose unseen authority is felt throughout and is a reminder of the dying aristocracy from which Julie is trying to escape. In Patrick Marber’s adaptation he is still there, but his influence is reduced to conversational asides. The focus is on the tragic love triangle and the dynamics between people on opposite sides of the class divide. Marber has updated the action to 1945 on the eve of Labour’s historic election victory. Julie, the daughter of an MP, seems to have little interest in the politics of the time beyond asking her father’s chauffer, John, whether he voted Labour or not. But we soon learn she has other, more pressing concerns on her mind.

The play opens with Christine, the household maid, preparing her fiancé John’s dinner. From upstairs we hear the muffled strains of a big band going through the Glen Miller repertoire. The party is in full swing, but for Christine and John the evening is coming to its end. Until Julie bursts in, crossing a divide she pretends isn’t there. And there’s the crux. The mask she wears doesn’t convince. When she claims to be ‘just a simple country girl’, we are supposed to believe that society is changing. But we don’t, and it isn’t. Liz Francis, as Julie, is a vivacious presence with her Lady Di accent and devil-may-care tipsiness. A Sloane Ranger thirty years before the phrase was coined. Intent on subverting the system, she insists on taking John upstairs to the party to dance with her. ‘It’s not an order, it’s an invitation’. This confuses Tom Varey’s John – a stickler for tradition. He’d rather obey an order than accept a flirtation.

Director Dadiow Lin is not afraid of the pauses. The actors often tiptoe around the silences, lighting cigarettes invariably half smoked. They are the eye before the storm, and when the dance is over and Christine (Charlene Boyd) has gone off to bed, the true drama begins and the sexual tension between John and Julie surfaces. The passion is all too artificial, however. We cannot see much beyond the game they are playing and are left struggling to believe the impending and implied tragedy. Varey gives a strong performance as John, baring the unpredictability of a dangerous dog. In all the toing and froing, we never quite grasp, however, what causes his moods to turn so rapidly. He is at his most caustic after discovering that Julie’s money is tied up in a trust, thereby quashing his dreams of fleeing to New York with her, but we had hoped his motives were less mercenary.

When the party is over, and they’ve had their midnight tryst (offstage), Charlene Boyd, as Christine, re-emerges from her sleepless night and is given her moment to shine. Having spotted her fiancé in flagrante, her reaction is beautifully balanced. Gritty and nuanced, Boyd’s performance has the restraint of deadly silence. When she smells John’s unwashed fingers, the moment is moving and symbolic. The ensuing slap is quite a shock.

Unfortunately, Christine is dispensed with too quickly and we are again left with the emotional battles between the other two. Motives and intentions become more blurred as dawn approaches. But as an exploration of the social mores of the time, the lens is in sharp focus. The basement kitchen, authentically represented by Eleanour Wintour’s in-the-round set, is a microcosm of that society. The play is full of wonderful dialogue and astute observation, but the stakes never reach the bar that has been set. Ed Lewis’ sound design weaves in a gentle crescendo of a drone that suggests more of a climax than the one delivered. The lead up is nevertheless enthralling, with fine performances from the trio. The best of Strindberg is left intact while Marber introduces pertinent modernisms. Its inconclusive coda reminds us, too, that nothing has really changed – and eighty years on from Marber’s setting, the same struggles apply, although in different forms maybe. We are all torn between dreaming and surviving, and “After Miss Julie” captures that contradiction.

Tag Archives: Jack Hathaway

FLUSH

★★★★

Arcola Theatre

FLUSH

Arcola Theatre

★★★★

“Entertaining, funny, surprising and moving”