Tag: Tristan Bates Theatre

Review: Sticks and Stones at Tristan Bates Theatre

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Written by Dameon Garnett in response to the ongoing debate around free speech, Sticks and Stones is a fascinating two-hander that explores how we talk about issues of race, class and privilege in 2020 Britain. In particular, the play asks where we draw the line between free speech and hate speech, and to what extent the opinions we share should be policed and punished by society.

Afua (Eva Fontaine) is a senior manager in a secondary school. Tina (Catherine Harvey) works in the kitchen. The two are friends, who socialise outside work and whose sons used to play together as children. When Afua is advised of offensive jokes shared by Tina on her public Facebook page, she has to take action – but what begins as a professional dispute soon turns personal, and escalates into a bitter conflict that brings to the surface previously unspoken resentments on both sides.

The play is only an hour long, but that short time is full to bursting with persuasive, thought-provoking lines of argument, and the traverse staging by director Rasheka Christie-Carter means that the debate pings back and forth across Afua’s office like a tennis match (there’s even a change of ends halfway through). There’s a discussion about what privilege means, about what constitutes hate speech, and about why it’s acceptable for Afua to be pictured at a protest march in a controversial outfit, but not for Tina to share a few jokes with her friends online. And, crucially, though their clash ends with a clear victor, the behaviour of both parties during the discussion prevents the audience deriving much satisfaction from her triumph.

Garnett’s skilful writing is brought to life in two powerhouse performances from Eva Fontaine and Catherine Harvey; the bitter tension between the two women, particularly in the second half of the play, is so convincing it becomes impossible to look away. Garnett has created two diametrically opposed characters, but neither is so extreme in their views that we can’t relate to them or recognise in them people we know, either in real life or online. Consequently, it doesn’t take long for the audience to become completely engaged in their argument, whether we’re firmly on one side throughout or shifting back and forth as the play goes on.

Sticks and Stones plays out on a small stage a much bigger debate currently rumbling – and occasionally raging – throughout Britain. For those who’ve already picked a side in that debate, the play is unlikely to win any hearts and minds for the opposing team. But this compelling, provocative drama certainly asks some uncomfortable questions, which should at least challenge the views we hold, and make us aware of the potential damage such bitter division can cause.

Sticks and Stones is at Tristan Bates Theatre until 21st March.

Interview: Michelle Payne, Sad About The Cows

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Michelle Payne is a playwright, director and performer whose work has been widely produced since 2015, when her debut play Orchid picked up two awards on its first outing. She’s also a founder of Caspa Arts, an acting school for young performers who can’t afford to go to drama school, and from tomorrow brings one-woman show Sad About The Cows to Tristan Bates Theatre for a week-long run.

The dark comedy explores the themes of female self-image through the story of Rachel, a young woman obsessed with consuming. “In the age of social media we are constantly bombarded with information and images, and it’s how her impressionable mind processes this,” explains Michelle. “I wanted to create a seemingly high-functioning character that happens to suffer with her mental health – it does not define who she is.”

Sad About The Cows at Tristan Bates Theatre

Though it’s not a directly autobiographical piece, Michelle did draw on her own experience to write Sad About The Cows. “I’ve seen a lot of theatre and TV about characters who face problems with their mental health, but hadn’t necessarily seen anything that resonated with my experiences,” she says. “I used my personal experience as a starting point for creating the play, but made sure that I adapted the plot so that Rachel is definitely a fictional character. This thought helps me to safeguard myself in the performance, to remember that I’m just telling an important story.”

Sad About The Cows transfers to Tristan Bates with a female creative team, after first being performed as part of the John Thaw Initiative Working Class Season with Actor Awareness earlier this year. “We stepped in for a gap in programming for the first full length showing as part of the John Thaw Initiative, which challenged me to finish writing the play,” says Michelle. “From this, the Tristan Bates offered us the week run. I was lucky enough to find a diverse female creative team who have shared slightly different views about body image and its relationship to mental health. Each creative in the team had something different to offer towards the piece, whether that be culturally different or from their life experiences so far! It’s been a great process with five different voices in the room.”

According to national charity BEAT, 1.25 million people in the UK have an eating disorder – 75% of them female. Michelle hopes the play will break down barriers and start a conversation about the subject: “The main thing I’d like people to know about eating disorders is that it’s not necessarily that people who suffer want to be skinny, it’s often a way of keeping control. And also that people can function despite the illness. I’d like our audiences to be able to have an open discussion about mental health disorders. So often the stigma stops people from discussing this at all and people worry about what others might think if they admit they suffer.”

Review: Eggs at Tristan Bates Theatre

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Florence Keith-Roach’s two-hander Eggs is a story of two very different women, known only as Girl One and Girl Two. They’ve been friends for years, but lately it’s been becoming harder for them – and even more so for the audience – to understand why. Girl One (Emily Curtis) is a struggling artist: always skint, often depressed and never afraid to talk loudly about sex toys in public places. Meanwhile Girl Two (Lauren-Nicole Mayes) has a steady job and an (almost) steady boyfriend – all of which has led her to the conclusion that it must be time to start having babies.

As they approach their 30s, the two friends appear to be heading off in very different directions, and more than once during the hour-long play it seems like they must this time have reached an insurmountable fork in the road. All that seems to unite them is a shared love of 90s pop classics (the B*Witched dance routine at an ill-advised student night is a real highlight) and the grief they both feel – but never quite talk about – over the death of their friend Rose at some unspecified moment in their shared past. So wrapped up in their own dramas that they’ve become incapable of actually listening to each other, they’re both entirely focused on trying to live up to what they think society expects of them – whether or not playing that role will actually make them happy. And yet, as frustrating and superficial as their relationship appears to be, when both women find themselves at crisis point, they still turn to each other.

Eggs at Tristan Bates Theatre

Given the play’s title, it’s no surprise that a recurring egg motif is worked in seamlessly throughout in different ways, from chocolate eggs to love eggs; it’s even reflected in the shape of the narrative, which loops back on itself at the end to conclude where it began an hour earlier. It’s most obviously referenced, however, in the characters’ views on motherhood. While Girl Two talks romantically about fulfilling her purpose by having kids without really thinking through the implications, Girl One appears to be horrified by the prospect – although her repeated, a propos of nothing reminders that she’s “a child of IVF” suggest her aversion may have as much to do with fear of failure as with anything else.

Despite several scene changes – all of which require a new costume for both cast members – director Chantell Walker keeps the action moving along smoothly, with a bit of help from an epic 90s playlist featuring the likes of Cher, Alanis Morissette and Planet Perfecto. Emily Curtis and Lauren-Nicole Mayes give great performances as the unlikely pair; they bounce off each other really well, and the fraught friendship between the two of them is completely believable in both its highs and its lows.

Eggs is the first production from all-female company Wake Up Theatre, whose aim is to “produce platforms that give women a new voice”. This play certainly ticks that box. It’s a witty and heartwarming story of female friendship that doesn’t try and romanticise; the characters are believably lost and flawed and at times incredibly difficult to root for – but they’re also not alone, and there’s something very empowering about the realisation that when it really counts they’re able to be there for each other. This is a really promising debut that’s definitely worth a visit during its short London run.

Review: Love Lab at Tristan Bates Theatre

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Love Island meets Big Brother meets Black Mirror in Sam Coulson’s Love Lab, which sees two singletons locked in a room together for 7 days in an attempt to make them fall in love. It’s the latest reality TV show, watched by millions – but that’s little comfort to Perry (Michael Rivers), who doesn’t even remember applying. And he’s definitely not okay with being kidnapped and forced to live on cold baked beans for a week with a total stranger, while a cheerful disembodied voice asks them increasingly personal questions.

Photo credit: Sam Tibi

Livia (Harriet Barrow), on the other hand, is much more at ease. She’s watched the show before, which helps, but we also learn this isn’t her first time in front of the cameras. And she’s considerably more au fait with dating apps and social media than her selected match, who’d much rather meet up with his friends in person over a cuppa than follow them on Facebook. Livia’s even been allowed to keep her phone, whereas Perry’s is nowhere to be seen. She seems to have the upper hand, but then the mind games kick in and the balance of power begins to shift – until, in a final fiendish twist, the Love Lab pulls the rug from under both their feet.

Set in a perhaps not so distant future, Séan Aydon’s slick production embraces the technological theme with stark lighting and unsettling sound effects – and let’s not forget the frequent interruptions of friendly matchmaker Lucy, whose pleasant but mechanical enunciation begins to sound increasingly sinister as the play goes on. Actors Michael Rivers and Harriet Barrow have great chemistry as the mismatched pair, whether they’re engaging in rapid-fire banter or sharing a moment of genuine connection. In fact, despite some significant flaws both characters ultimately prove rather likeable, and by the end we’re almost rooting for them to run off into the sunset together.

My main complaint about Love Lab is actually a compliment in disguise: I wanted more. The premise is intriguing, and the play offers some fascinating (and slightly scary) insights about dating in the 21st century – but at only 50 minutes it feels too short, and as clever as the final twist is, it’s all a bit abrupt. Just as we feel like we’re starting to get to know the characters and what might have brought them here, it’s all over. I’d love to see a longer version of the play that lets us spend a bit more time in the Love Lab (and yes I appreciate the irony of that statement, given that Perry spends a significant amount of his time trying to get out).

Photo credit: Sam Tibi

Witty and insightful, the play asks “what is love?” in a world where off-line connection is starting to feel like the exception rather than the rule. We may lament the fact that nobody meets in person any more, but Love Lab leaves us wondering if that’s actually a self-fulfilling prophecy – are we all too glued to our dating apps to look up and see who’s right in front of us? The play doesn’t condemn online dating; even Perry acknowledges it’s a great idea in theory. But it still might make you stop and think twice the next time you swipe right.

Review: Getting Over Everest at Tristan Bates Theatre

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Getting over a break-up is never easy. But when you’ve spent ten years – a third of your life – building a future with the man who’s just unceremoniously dumped you, recovery can feel like an impossible task. It’s no coincidence, therefore, that the ex in Natasha Santos’ new play is called Rob Everest, and that main character Libby is struggling to get over him. She’s not eating; she’s been spotted crying into a stolen pair of Rob’s pants at work (when she’s not listening to Sinead O’Connor on repeat, that is); and she’s started recording her farts – just because she can.

Needless to say, Getting Over Everest is a comedy, in which Libby (Natasha Santos) confesses all the crazy things she’s doing to try and get over her ex. When we first meet her, she’s leaving him yet another voicemail – in this case, a heartfelt rendition of I Will Always Love You. Later, encouraged by her friend Steph (Grace Dunne), she goes clubbing and ends up having an ill-advised sexual encounter with a floppy-haired random (George Vafakis) whose name she never bothers to find out.

It’s all very funny, and the cast of three play the outrageous material for every well-deserved laugh, with Grace Dunne and George Vafakis providing strong support as a variety of comic characters alongside Natasha Santos’ wry, self-deprecating Libby. But there’s a lot more going on here than just a newly single woman going a bit mad for a while, and it’s in its quieter moments that the play really touches a nerve. We never meet Rob (although we hear his voicemail message a lot), and there’s a reason for that – though he might have sparked it, Libby’s panic is never about him but about what he represents. She’s hurt and heartbroken by his rejection, but more than that she’s terrified of what the future holds for an almost-30-year-old whose entire life has been defined for a decade by her relationship status.

And you don’t need to have recently come out of a long-term relationship to identify with that feeling – anyone who’s ever gone through a bereavement, or lost a job, or simply woken up one day and realised their life isn’t going the way they’d hoped will be able to recognise a little of themselves in what Libby’s going through. (Though it’s likely – I hope – that most of us haven’t yet resorted to recording our farts.) In reality, this play isn’t so much about a breakup as it is about the importance of being able to talk about our fears and emotions; it’s only when Libby finally opens up and shares how she’s feeling with a kindly stranger that she’s finally set on the road to recovery. As funny as the rest of the play is, I wish we could have seen a bit more of Libby’s emotional journey instead of just the first steps, even at the expense of some of the earlier comedy.

Laugh-out-loud funny, at times unashamedly filthy and at others unexpectedly poignant, Getting Over Everest is an entertaining and relatable hour of theatre that touches on some very topical issues – and above all reminds us (repeatedly) that “it’s okay to not be okay”.

Can’t see the map on iPhone? Try turning your phone to landscape and that should sort it. I don’t know why but I’m working on it… 😉