Tag Archives: Jennifer Tang

FIRE FIRE

★★★

Arcola Theatre

FIRE FIRE

Arcola Theatre

★★★

“a thoughtful meditation on our relationship with the Earth”

Fire Fire, written by John Webber and directed by Jennifer Tang, brings together two people who could not initially seem more different. Eddie is holding a memorial for his brother, intending to scatter his ashes, while Paige is closing a road as part of a climate protest. Their first encounter is fiery, and although they repeatedly clash, their paths continue to cross until an unexpected bond begins to form.

The production has a striking simplicity to it, with Peiyao Wang’s set and costume design creating an evocative landscape of soil and steps, complemented by Charly Dunford’s shifting lighting design. The two-hander is punctuated by moments of self-reflection, allowing both characters to share something of their inner worlds. At its heart is an intriguing concept: a meeting between grief and activism, personal loss and collective responsibility, and two people whose different experiences of the world gradually reveal unexpected points of connection. There is also a strong reflection on different points of view, and on how our sense of identity, purpose and connection to ourselves can differ, while underneath it all we may be far more similar than we realise.

There is a lot of potential in this premise, particularly in the way it brings together questions of class, climate, grief and personal responsibility. However, the play sometimes gets caught in a succession of events that leaves little room for the audience to pause and reflect. The stakes are high almost from the beginning, and as they continue to escalate, there are few opportunities to simply sit with the characters or allow their relationship to develop at a quieter pace. The result can feel emotionally tiring rather than increasingly affecting.

Some of the strongest moments are also the simplest. There are flashes of comedy rooted in recognisable human behaviour, and these moments bring a welcome sense of reality to the conversations. More of this grounded, everyday quality could have made the exchanges feel more natural. At times, the dialogue feels closer to a book being read aloud than two people genuinely talking to each other, with the dramatic weight of each new event sometimes taking precedence over the intimacy of the relationship.

The performances, however, are committed and generous. Gabrielle Brooks and Chris Simmons give the production everything, navigating its emotional and physical demands with energy. The moment involving Eddie’s brother’s ashes is particularly beautiful and deeply affecting, creating a rare stillness in a play that otherwise moves relentlessly forward.

Fire Fire offers a thoughtful meditation on our relationship with the Earth, the climate crisis and the direction in which the world is heading. Its central idea of finding common ground between people who appear to occupy opposing sides is timely and full of possibility. With more space to breathe, reflect and allow its characters to simply exist together, the play could perhaps have allowed some of its most powerful ideas to land more deeply.

 

FIRE FIRE

Arcola Theatre

Reviewed on 11th September 2026

by Nasia Ntalla

Photography by Mark Senior


 

 

 

 

FIRE FIRE

FIRE FIRE

FIRE FIRE

LOVE YOU LONG TIME (ALREADY)

★★★½

Theatre503

LOVE YOU LONG TIME (ALREADY)

Theatre503

★★★½

“a fine production with tenderness and craft”

A papier-mâché texture softens every object on the Theatre503 stage, dissolving edges as if seen through memory, slightly out of focus. Elsewhere, the set is coming apart: a wall hangs unmoored in mid-air, severed from whatever should hold it up. It’s a fittingly hazy dreamscape for love you long time (already), Katie Đỗ’s play about how trauma travels through mother and daughter.

Directed by Jennifer Tang, the play follows Mai (Tuyen Do), newly arrived in an afterlife unlike the one she pictured, and her daughter Tâm (Molly Harris), reckoning with the shape her mother’s pain left on her life. Long ago, Mai’s husband Long (Jon Chew) betrayed her, and across the play we watch that old wound continue to swallow her: isolation deepening, fear tightening into an anger she never lets go of. That inheritance shadows Tâm too, not least through her friendship with a boy from church, Huy (Zheng Xi Yong): Mai’s distrust of men colours the friendship and stirs tension between mother and daughter. As the initial afterlife scene fades into memory, the two women circle each other across time, trying to find a way through what was passed down as much as left unsaid.

That story mostly unfolds in a naturalistic register, though it’s punctuated by heightened, physical interludes from movement director Dam Van Huynh — one stands out: a surreal, television-inflected sequence in which the actors conjure a ghoulish visage from little more than a veil. This moment captures Mai’s grief and dislocation most vividly, offering a glimpse of a bolder, stranger production.

The performances carry real detail throughout. Harris does a fine job giving Tâm a quieter register than pure anger, her helplessness apparent in the distance she can’t help forcing between them and in the quiet work of undoing what’s passed down. Do, meanwhile, fills Mai with a bitterness that reflects a lifetime spent trying not to be seen, loving sideways through snipes and backhanded compliments, always pushing Tâm towards a steady career or a good marriage. Chew brings real weight to Long without asking for sympathy he hasn’t earned. While Do and Harris might have done more to differentiate the ages their characters pass through; Yong fully embraces that range, lending Huy an energetic, lived-in quality whatever the era his character inhabits.

Beneath those performances sits writing clearly alert to the risk of melodrama: Tâm even remarks that her life feels like a soap opera, and there are moments, not least her own romantic entanglements, where the observation lands. But it doesn’t diminish the story; instead, the melodrama serves as a funhouse mirror, letting generational trauma unfurl in new ways rather than repeat.

That funhouse-mirror effect carries through the design, too. TK Hay’s set and costume design sustains the dreamlike quality, while Cheng Keng’s lighting is just as considered, shaping the stage with a sudden, sharp flash of blue, or a stop-start, stuttering quality in transitions that keeps shifts between memory and present feeling alive. Elena Peña’s sound design cleverly separates memory from afterlife, and Mai’s love of music runs as a gentle thread across the piece, though there’s more yarn left to pull; a production this attuned to memory could have let music carry more weight.

By its close, love you long time (already) tries to leave Mai with something akin to peace, a small slice of heaven after a lifetime of deep complication. Though I’m not fully convinced the production’s ending quite earns its wings, judging by the mother and daughter quietly sniffling in the row ahead of me, perhaps it lands exactly where it needs to. Ultimately, this is a fine production with tenderness and craft, and if the story of what mothers pass down to daughters hasn’t found a clean ending on paper, it clearly finds its mark in the room.



LOVE YOU LONG TIME (ALREADY)

Theatre503

Reviewed on 7th July 2026

by Daniel Outis

Photography by Ikin Yum


 

 

 

 

LOVE YOU LONG TIME

LOVE YOU LONG TIME

LOVE YOU LONG TIME