An electric one man show that cuts to the quick of addiction and mental illness, but has surprisingly little to say about art.
The Poltergeist is a bitterly hilarious, unrelentingly uncomfortable and totally exhilarating piece of theatre. Through an extended monologue, the audience step into the mind of former child art prodigy Sasha, played with impressive stamina by Joseph Potter. Although a monologue, Potter is constantly flicking between the key characters with whom Sasha interacts, to give a present tense insight into one day in the artist’s life. Sasha’s mind is not a pleasant place to be: every moment of small talk is accompanied by venomous commentary, a result of unresolved trauma and years of festering resentment. Potter, with direction by Weibke Green, achieves the difficult task of drawing comedy from such acidic material; on stage we see the worst of ourselves and can’t help but laugh in recognition. For example, the more sweet and supportive Sasha’s boyfriend, Chet, is, the more frustrated and contrary Sasha becomes.
However, the fast-paced cattiness is given much needed moments to breathe through carefully crafted pacing and repetition. Potter’s performance is incredibly physical, with constant movement to accompany the quick dialogue. Bursts of intense physicality create emotional peaks, with the body imitating the mind, and lead on to moments of total stillness and silence that are resonant in their infrequency. Playwright Philip Ridley’s use of repetitive phrases increases the sense of claustrophobia in this cycle of addiction and mental illness: “Am I, am I going to cry?” Potter also succeeds in creating distinct characters through altering his movement and voice, slipping with apparent ease between Sasha’s overconfident brother, Flynn, to Flynn’s more emotionally aware wife, Niamh, to Niamh’s elderly parents and beyond. This culminates in a dynamic scene at a niece’s birthday party, where Potter manages to convey the subtle social tensions underlying the conversation whilst switching between characters every sentence.
The Poltergeist considers the impact of an industry that values overachievement by exploiting and then discarding young talent, and the traumatic web of addiction and mental illness that such child prodigies can spiral towards in adulthood. That said, it’s commentary on the art world does not seem to push much further than this central message. There is some slight consideration of classism in the art world, as Sasha sneers at clueless neighbour Dougie, and the refrain “for those of you who don’t know” is cleverly used to both highlight Sasha’s elitism whilst also actually informing the audience of art terminology and conventions. The stronger aspect of the show is its portrayal of addiction and mental illness. In one early scene, Sasha describes the practised charade of a trip to the pharmacy, and his manipulation of both the pharmacist and Chet is amusing but also tragically recognisable for those with experiences of addiction. Depersonalisation is also a recurrent theme in Sasha’s inner monologue, as he describes his surroundings as a film set, identifies specific colours like an artist’s palette, and later performs for party-goers, driven by the feeling of being “their favourite set piece in their favourite movie”. It is these moments that cut to the quick of Sasha’s inner turmoil and seem to say the most: in many ways, the artist backstory feels incidental and I wonder why the marketing material chose to emphasise this aspect of the piece.
Too often, portrayals of mental illness choose to omit the manipulation and anger, in favour of more palatable, sympathetic takes. The Poltergeist does a great job of giving insight into the mind of a traumatised adult, showing the undiluted bitterness and hostility alongside vulnerability. It is an intense and raw perspective that Potter and Green have done a phenomenal job of staging with humour relatability.