Stefanie Reynolds creates a chemistry between herself and the audience that makes for a rewarding theatre experience.
There is no doubt somewhat of a saturation of shows following the lives of aimless young adults. It’s a mode we return to as audiences and creatives not necessarily for its originality, but for its ability to make our common yet isolating experiences feel seen. Off of the successes of brilliant singular narrative shows like Michaela Coel’s Chewing Gum and Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag, this particular genre has been persistently replicated in popular media, sometimes to a point of exhaustion. At their worst, these stories can feel self-indulgent, uninteresting, and unproductive. At their best, they may look something like Stefanie Reynolds’ Unhinged.
Hazel Williams is a struggling 29 year old with a crumbling council flat in her absent brother’s name, an admin job at an unstable charity, and friends around her whose lives seem to be progressing ahead of her at an unattainable rate. This setup is recognisable, humanising, and creates a base for the play’s humour. Reynolds, a comedy writer, absolutely succeeds at this, and creates an exceptional chemistry between Hazel and the audience. She makes regular eye contact, occasionally directly eliciting responses from the audience, whose laughter persisted throughout the show. The room was undeniably hers, and this did not feel like an intimidating experience, but rather very much a communal one. The plight of many single-narrative shows is their restraint in their sole perspective, sometimes leading to a sense of unaccounted selfishness, or even narcissism.
In Unhinged, despite Hazel displaying some traits of that nature, the world around her is drawn in, implicating her in a much wider narrative. This is what Unhinged does so brilliantly—it looks precisely to scrutinise how we construct narratives ourselves. One of the most compelling points in the show takes place during a phone call, where we see a shift in Hazel’s behaviour, showing that there exists a very different side to her than the quippy, inviting character who interacts with the audience onstage. The show never gets trapped in its own narrative, instead constantly seeking to expand its catch. It reaches out across characters, distinguished so humorously by Reynolds, bringing in a whole community of people who are implicated in the wider narrative. A portrait is painted of Manchester that encompasses class, race, queerness, and gender. The depiction of black masculinity was particularly moving and prudent, accompanied by some excellent lighting choices. Throughout, Reynolds subverts our expectations, creating a story packed full of characters that are just as complex as the city they inhabit.
Props must also be given to director Erinn Dhesi— It is clear that the pair make an excellent team. The show worked with a sparse array of props and set, relying mostly on a fold up chair and table, still managing to conjure up a rich, entertaining story. This, paired with the precision and directness in Reynold’s performance, made for an rewarding show that was accessible and accommodating for its audience. For every part Hazel Williams let us into her life, there was a sense of letting a bit of her into ours.