A blisteringly real, laugh-out-loud portrait of functioning alcoholism
Steven is (at least initially) a functioning alcoholic, walking a tightrope between crucial meetings with theatre directors and sneaking in a drink between breakfast and brushing his teeth. But there’s only so long you can burn the candle at both ends. As his father falls ill and people begin identifying his confidence as more stagger than swagger, Steven looks set to lose everything he’s worked for. The White Chip is an autobiographical account from writer Sean Daniels, burning with a stark authenticity of entangled tragedy and laughter in every scene.
This is one man’s story, and The White Chip never claims to be anything more. The title refers to the most important token given at AA meetings across the world, signifying 24 hours sober or the desire to do so. This chip becomes a tragically recurrent motif onstage as Steven oscillates between AA meetings and airport bars with heartbreaking regularity, sometimes deciding to clean up his act and then falling off the wagon within the same day.
Yet for all its grim subject matter, the play remains remarkably funny. There’s always a hilarious skewering of everyday life or the flawed logic of addiction waiting just around the corner. Such incisive observations lie at The White Chip’s core: its wit and sarcasm are underpinned by fundamental truth, painting an affecting picture of functioning alcoholism. From the normalisation of excessive drinking in college to the near-necessity of alcohol for effective networking, and on to stashing bottles of booze around the house so you’re never more than an arm’s length away from the next fix.
That emotional range demands sensitive handling, and The White Chip’s impact is amplified by an exceptional cast. Ed Coleman’s Steven is charismatic in his flaws, oozing desperation as he bargains against and gets angry at himself and those around him. There’s a chilling believability to the way his mindset whiplashes toward despair. Early on, whilst contemplating going teetotal, he wonders “what if I’m nothing without it?”. Mara Allen and Ashlee Irish flit dexterously between a whole host of roles, from an overly personal bartender to aspects of Steven’s own inner monologue.
The cast have their work cut out for them, as excellent lighting and sound design jump rapidly from one scene to the next. This evokes the uncertainty of waking from being blackout drunk, and everyone onstage nails every fast transition. Consequently, a lot of story is told in not a lot of time, without losing any of the emotional intensity it deserves. The house lights blaze whenever Steven receives a white chip, adding a powerful sense of vulnerability and exposure both onstage and in the audience. Such care and attention to detail result in a polished and important-feeling show.
It’s no surprise that the original off-Broadway production – which was an NYT critics’ pick – reportedly had audience members pushed to seek help “after every performance”. The White Chip is an utterly convincing, and sympathetic, portrayal of addiction’s harsh realities and the chaos it can wreak. This is the sort of show that makes you want to rush out and see more theatre: a sharp script, three-dimensional characters you want to root for, and a compelling narrative with genuine stakes make it a must-see.The White Chip plays at Southwark Playhouse Borough until 16th August, with Saturday and Tuesday matinees. Tickets can be purchased here