An assured and entertaining meditation on identity and performance, exuberantly defying categorisation in a one-person autobiographical cabaret.
Floppy-haired and charismatic, Kit Ford waltzes onto stage in their promising London debut to the tune of “Funky Town”. Introducing this one-person show, Ford wryly explains that it does exactly what it says on the tin: an exploration of their own life growing up queer. In an imaginative showcase of Ford’s various performing talents, anecdotes from childhood come together as part cabaret, part stand-up, part monologue, part singer-songwriting, part impressionism, part dance. The performance which emerges is at turns intelligent, insightful, and downright silly.
The show’s refusal to conform to one category and to perform as a fixed genre, offers a neat metaphor for the show’s substance. This instability of identity is inherent to the show at all levels, as an exploration of queer identity and the relationship between gender performance. Though Narcissistic Reflections on a Queer Childhood is constantly shapeshifting, it is to Ford’s credit that this amorphousness contributes to the piece’s overall polished coherence. Ford’s point, throughout, is to celebrate of the multiplicity of performance in swashbuckling defiance of categorisation.
A solo show is always ambitious, but Ford displays a knack for pacing, matching playful high energy with more intimate moments of storytelling with Ford playing original songs on guitar. A highlight of the former was an energetic rendition of “I Have Confidence” from The Sound of Music. In full nun’s habit and with an impression of Julie Andrews which was frighteningly uncanny Ford’s musical and physical comedic talents were on full display.
The lighting design in these moments helped with tonal shifts, and the typical singer-songwriter spotlight on Ford and their guitar was a neat touch. In the intimate blackbox setting of The Hope Theatre, Ford built an affable audience rapport, encouraging participation and displaying an alarming level of trust in us through an invitation to cut their hair, which was promptly taken up to shrieks of nervous laughter from the crowd.
At its core, Narcissistic Reflections on a Queer Childhood is a love letter to the acts of dressing up and playing pretend afforded us in youth. With costumes and props strewn across the stage, the Hope Theatre becomes Kit Ford’s floordrobe (which renders us all “in” the “closet”). Picking up clothes and transforming in front of us, Ford comes alive as different characters from both a wide array of cultural references – Hugh Grant in Love Actually, Puss-in-Boots from Shrek 2, Shakespeare’s Romeo – and from different periods of their own life. The boundary between Kit Ford the performer and Kit Ford the character (who is also a performer) is blurred completely. This further underscores the malleability of identity and yet I leave theatre with the slightly discomfiting sense that, for a show all about Kit Ford, I don’t think we ever met the “real” Kit. But that might just be Ford’s point.