We sat down with Róisín Sheridan-Bryson and chatted about their exciting new show Lost Girls/At Bus Stops. Catch the show through the 15-24 August at 14:20 at Assembly George Square: The Box.
What made you choose a single night in Edinburgh as the backdrop for this love story—was it always meant to feel fleeting?
Definitely. I think the whole experience of the Fringe feels like a dream, so there’s a lot of that in the play. There’s something in trying to hold onto those memories that you can’t quite grasp that really appeals to me as a writer. The Fringe is a perfect example of that sort of ethereal, fleeting, wonderful, awful feeling.
How did you approach writing queer love with silence, hesitation, and timing at its heart, rather than declarations?
I think these are all things Queer people know well in love, especially lesbians. The unsayable, the risk that comes with telling someone how you feel, the not-knowingness that comes with Queer relationships. The stakes are different and the boundaries are often a bit blurry, so it’s hard to even know if it’s romance or friendship, and so we sit comfortably in longing. I think longing was the driving force behind writing the show.
What parts of Jess and Iona come from your own life, and what did you discover about yourself in writing them?
Too much! I spent a lot of time worrying that I was too like Jess, and then too like Iona, but I’d rather the show didn’t feel like a self-insert. The feelings are real, lots of the things happened, but this is a much bigger story, and the characters grow every time we work on the show. I think largely I discovered that my brain goes 90 miles an hour, not least of all when I’m in love, and I hope that comes across in the show.
How do you capture the intimacy of a bus stop, a quiet street, or a missed moment—and make it feel theatrical?
I think it already is theatrical. So many of the beautiful, romantic, sometimes awful memories I have from past relationships are at bus stops, down laneways, in front of theatres, at the back of cinemas. There’s theatricality all over Edinburgh.
What do you think the city of Edinburgh remembers about us that we try to forget?
I have personally cried a lot all over this city, there’s not a single corner safe from me having a cry. I think the city remembers that. I’ve been pretty drunk, I’ve been head over heels in love, I’ve fallen over on a cobbled street far more than one person should.
Is this a love story, a goodbye, or both—and can a play be a letter you never got to send?
Both! It’s about desperately trying to hold onto something slipping through your fingers. It’s romantic and funny, but it can be pretty tragic too. It’s full of things you wish you could say. That’s lesbianism, baby.
Book tickets for the show with this link!