Tag Archives: Sara Joyce

Dust – 5 Stars

Dust

Dust

Trafalgar Studios

Reviewed – 7th September 2018

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“The writing is sensational; Thomas’ performance more so.”

 

Alice? Who the f**k is Alice? She’s the girl next door, of course. She’s the girl who’s doing fine. You know she is because she’s always telling you β€œI’m fine”. She’s also sassy. But she’s a bitch, a misanthrope. A bit too promiscuous. She’s funny. But sometimes sad. She’s taken her sadness and turned it into anger. She’s the girl you don’t quite understand. She’s the girl you don’t want to understand, the girl whose best friend has asked her to move out and go back home, the girl whose parents worry about but don’t ask too many questions. She’s Alice, the girl you’ve got to get used to not living next door to.

She’s the girl who is dead.

Alice is the protagonist of β€œDust”, written and performed by Milly Thomas. On paper, the premise of a one-woman show about depression is a bit of a bleak prospect. Yet it is immediately clear why this show has made such a rapid journey from Edinburgh, to London’s Soho Theatre and now into the West End, picking up awards on the way. The writing is sensational; Thomas’ performance more so. Shockingly unrestrained, fearless and honest, this is theatre that makes you laugh out loud and fight back tears in the same breath.

Alice emerges at the start of the play from a mortuary slab. Having just killed herself she now has to witness the aftermath and the impact on her family and friends. From her vantage point she watches, and comments. Thomas’ gift for story telling is in the detail and we are presented with a very vivid picture of Alice in both life and death. This never feels like a one-woman show as Alice imitates the other characters, switching accents and personalities within a whisper, running the gamut of emotions, and then back to herself. The ghost. Watching. And still trying to make sense of it all.

It is mesmerising.

It is a tragedy and a comedy rolled into one, where descriptions of graphic sex lie alongside family photos, where Alice’s struggle to come to terms with her own suicide grapples with her need to read her friends’ Facebook posts about it. Tirades and curses share the same phrase with sharp one-liners and heart-wrenching pleas for understanding. But what is missing, and this is undoubtedly intentional, is that we are given no explanation. Alice never takes us back to search for an underlying cause for her depression. There is no childhood trauma, no abuse. In short, we get no back story whatsoever.

Which is precisely the point. Like death, depression has no prejudice. It can happen to anyone. Often there is no reason. Yet there is also no reason why those afflicted should end up like Alice. This is what Milly Thomas’ outstanding production is telling us, and I hope it encourages people to discuss the issues, even if we never fully understand the nature of depression. Thomas implores us to β€œtalk to each other – not talking is killing us.” This is an absolute must see for anybody who is affected, directly or indirectly, by depression.

Correction: this is an absolute must see for anybody.

 

Reviewed by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Richard Southgate

 


Dust

Trafalgar Studios until 13th October

 

 

Click here to see more of our latest reviews on thespyinthestalls.com

 

 

SPLIT

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VAULT Festival 2018

Split

Split

Network Theatre

Reviewed – 4th March 2018

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“holds a mirror up to every woman in the audience and leaves them raucously laughing”

 

Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders. Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie. David Mitchell and Robert Webb. It’s no secret that two is the magic number when it comes to comedy and, after last night’s performance of β€˜Split’ at the VAULT Festival, it strikes me that Emma Pritchard and Tamar Broadbent could well be next to join that list.

β€˜Split’ is a hilariously riotous cringeworthy comedy about two side-splittingly relatable young women. Ellie and Charlotte meet on the first day of Year 7. It must be fate. Well, either fate or the fact that their surnames both start with a J. As so many do, they click almost instantly, and over the course of the next hour we’re allowed the privilege of seeing them navigate their way through their youth. Scene after scene has the audience nudging the best friend who is sat beside them with whispers of β€œThat’s you!” or β€œDo you remember when…?”. Blissfully ignorant to the realities of adulthood, the two best friends stumble through the traumas of boyfriends, bad decisions and the loss of Charlotte’s pet cat Bach. One of the most memorable things about the piece is its oh-so-classic soundtrack of boy band hits from the beginning of the millennium, along with a dance mat duet which conjured more focus and higher stakes than anything else.

However, β€˜Split’ does more than make you reminisce fondly over Busted albums and smelly gel pens. It reminds you of the value and resilience of female friendships. It forces you to remember the people who raised you; the people who sat beside you in assembly and the people who snuck you out of dodgy house parties via the bedroom window. β€˜Split’ holds a mirror up to every woman in the audience and leaves them raucously laughing at the nostalgic embarrassments of their early teenage years; but also smiling at how timeless the relationships from that part of your life can be.

 

Reviewed by Sydney Austin

 


Split

Network Theatre

 

 

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