An unsentimental, wry portrait of death and how we deal with it
Self-absorbed journalist Olive has just managed to get a story commissioned, covering how people feel about death, when she finds herself diagnosed with a rare, progressive and incurable liver disease. Inspired by writer and actor Harriet Medley’s own experience with Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis (PSC), Outpatient is a dark comedy capturing the messy imperfection of Olive’s response to this news. The result is a fast-paced, farcical journey confronting our own mortality that is rich in laughs, but overlooks key opportunities to strike an emotional chord.
As a person, Olive isn’t particularly likeable. But she is funny: exuding main character energy (she blags her way onto a palliative care ward, convinced patients will recognise the importance of her journalism), and many of the funniest moments arise when her skewed self-perception collides with reality. Medley gives each quip just enough space to land, before moving onto the next moment in an irony-dense script. Regrettably, the same brevity applies to Outpatient’s more heartfelt scenes, and its relentlessly jocular tone ultimately dilutes the intended impact.
Fleabag-like commentary punctuates Olive’s conversations with others, cleverly facilitated by piped-in voice recordings. These also add a distance between Olive and her loved ones resonating with the show’s darker themes, and maintaining a steady stream of hilarious barbs: well-meaning but overbearing friend Indie gets a particular tongue-lashing. This intelligent structure is matched by adept staging – especially its use of lighting and space – and brisk pacing. A standout moment is a rug-pull which teases, then snatches away, a seemingly-predictable final twist.
Yet when the show centres Olive’s vulnerability, it pulls back when it matters most. Olive’s interviews with other dying people for her newspaper article present compelling opportunities for reflection, but aside from one developing friendship they take place offstage. A therapy session confronting the reality of death is quickly pumped for laughs and then pushed aside, failing to explore how someone comes to terms with the fact that there isn’t long left. This robs the show of much-needed emotional catharsis, leaving Outpatient feeling more hollow than affecting.
This is a particular shame, because there is a palpable realness to the suffering. A terminal diagnosis doesn’t magically redeem Olive – if anything, it amplifies her flaws as she’s buffeted from crying friend to bumbling doctor to her fiancé armed with a ring binder and a mission to help. Her journey to acceptance spans anxious guilt over those she’ll leave behind, hedonistic self-destruction, and desperate attempts to seize control of the narrative. This humanity is arguably Outpatient’s most engrossing element, yet the script often glosses over its more textured moments.
The knowledge that writer/actress Harriet Medley has lived through the same journey as Olive adds vital depth to what is otherwise quite a silly, amusing narrative. And there are moments of real poignancy hidden amidst the laughs. An evocative photo montage at the show’s conclusion is genuinely emotional – you’re left wishing more of Olive’s story drew from this same gut-punching well.
Outpatient plays at the Park Theatre until 7th June, with Thursday and Saturday matinees. Tickets available here.