Achieves more in 35 minutes than any show could dream of in an hour
“That sounds insane, why would you subject yourself to that?”just one of the things I was told by friends when I explained I was gonna see and review a show that takes place in a real flat’s bathroom with just me as the sole audience member. A show where I am told I will play the role of a care worker to a woman trying to claw back her life, health and sense of self, using a variety of mantras, “life hacks”, meditations and general wellness ‘cures’.
When I first went to the location outside an unassuming bookshop I was greeted by Carrie’s brother (William Dunleavy) who very calmly, almost to a point of looking straight through me, a man introduced himself and solemnly walked me to the flat where Carrie resided.
The performance starts the moment you lock eyes but rather than the warm welcome at a fringe venue entrance, it instead feels like I am being escorted to a funeral. As we ascend to the flat I feel like I am descending into hell, William asks me if I am counting the steps, I say am I not, he calmly replies “that was 47” in a sinister monotone as we creep further closer. Once inside he takes my bag from me, hands me a tray with a selection of items on it and asks me to bring them to Carrie in the bathroom. As I enter I am greeted with an alien looking being sat in the full bathtub, donning a facemask and several accessories completely covering her face, as I see a low stool sat a few inches from her. By this point I am already feeling suffocated by the atmosphere, I am out of my depth and I can feel this show will produce no comforts, and I love it.
This main part of the show is comprised of several “episodes” punctuated by different time jumps of around a month to 3 months each, each episode is started with the day number, a small monologue sounding like her diary, and what sounds like a podcast/audio book (Heather O’Sullivan) dispensing poisonous wisdom before once again Carrie will talk me through her thoughts, how the treatment is definitely working, the herbal remedies littered in her bath like sodden corpses, and mantras that ring more like her final dying pleas more than powerful wisdom. Sometimes I have to help her, feed her, answer questions. The show fully commits to forcing myself to engage with what takes place within, staying engrossed, not merely passively observing the show but becoming part of it.
I feel less like a support worker and more like a bystander of a car crash. Willing to help but absolutely lost on what to do. The bathroom is like a shrine you’d see in a cult, photos of different parts of her are pegged to her towel rack as a tapestry of body horror all too familiar. Her mirror is almost entirely covered up by fabric like the covering of a lost and forgotten artefact, with the sink beneath filled like an altar with her vape, vibrator and other creature comforts.
Throughout the show Carrie’s monologue and the ominous self-help podcast, both offer tripe advice, cleansing rituals and similar feel good “fixes” to whatever underlying pain, loneliness, internalised hatred Carrie is feeling. Every call to “reach further purification”, or eating of the woefully horrid looking zero calorie noodles like a dog in the heat reaching for a water bowl, makes me feel like I am watching someone die in front of me.
Like the Japanese culture of ‘*hikikomori’* which inspired this show, something unknown has derailed Carrie’s life, forcing her to retreat, to reject authentic connection with herself and the outside world. But the help offered is naught but predatory wisdom so often dispensed to isolated people. In this case it’s eating disorders wrapped up as “cleansing”, it’s body dysmorphia masking itself as just “taking an honest look at yourself”. It’s poison, so recognisable because I’ve seen these kinds of messages affect myself, my friends, family, and strangers.
The show is akin to watching very drawn out self harm, but the monologue, the cramped confrontational setting, impart a sense of immersion so effectively I feel like a spectator for a real tragedy. We all have our own, perhaps less extreme versions of self destructive coping mechanisms but the show forces us to confront all these especially those which are usually marketed towards women by wellness podcasts and health brands selling to those desperate to stop their hurt.
I did not enjoy the show, I did not feel good, I did not feel entertained, I felt disturbed, I felt the air around me leave and the walls close in. I felt that this was easily the best piece of art I’ve seen at the fringe this year. It pushes the boundaries of what we can do with theatre, it does not make comfortable the horror that confronts you, and there are no nice words to end on. No praising words can truly pay homage to the work of all performers and the writer Grace Morgan. What they achieve in 35 minutes outclasses more than most of the festival could.
https://tickets.edfringe.com/whats-on/you-re-needy-sounds-frustrating