A piece that glows long after the lights go out.
Love: the most celebrated, complicated, irresistible of emotions– the muse of poets, the heart of myths, the hero of every story. It’s so deeply human that we recognise it from the moment we enter the world, and spend our lives seeking it in others and in ourselves. However, in today’s hectic, disconnected world, love feels harder than ever to define, let alone find. With overstimulating media, social anxiety, unrealistic expectations, and noisy hate, opening ourselves to another can feel impossible. Vulnerability gives way to guardedness: we commit to non-commitment and keep intimacy at arm’s length to avoid being hurt. Lightbulbs dives straight into this tension, offering a tender exploration of the modern “situationship” through a queer, interracial couple. What emerges is a grounded, gentle, and recognisable portrait of love in all its fragility.
Lightbulbs is a one-act, movement-driven exploration of fear in love, told through a series of intimate moments. We follow Oran (Reuben Oladehin) and Ezekiel (Max Burns) as they fall for one another, glimpsing both the joys and fractures of their relationship. Their connection is mirrored by the only set pieces onstage– two bare lightbulbs, flickering on and off to reflect who is reaching for whom, and when (rarely together). At its core lies Oran’s fear of commitment–shaped by overthinking, internalised homophobia, and a struggle with vulnerability– compounded by the couple’s lack of healthy communication. Directed by TJ
Roderick, who co-wrote the piece with his production company co-owner Heather Woodhouse, the show is quick, tender, and quietly truthful.
The portrayal of the relationship in Lightbulbs is both thoughtful and deeply intimate. Heavy movement sequences form the show’s central language, layered with poetic dialogue and situations that uncannily mirror real life. The result is a piece that feels both stylised and utterly truthful. Oladehin and Burns deliver outstanding performances, particularly through their physicality. The choreography is dynamic, sexy, and heartbreaking– executed with a sense of ease and playfulness that makes it all the more compelling. From fluttering moths conjured by fingers, to Oladehin’s endearing zoomies as Burns quietly devours an ice cream in real time, to a dazzling nightclub sequence where spinning bodies dissolve into spinning heads and spinning hearts– the show is consistently inventive, engaging and alive.
The casting choices further elevate the work. While this story could resonate with anyone because of its humanity, the interracial and queer pairing adds a poignant layer of complexity. Cultural sensitivity shapes the struggle of each character: they connect immediately as people, yet wrestle with the acceptance of their love. This tension is most visible in Oran, whose fear of intimacy and internalised homophobia drive much of the conflict. As Ezekiel patiently reaches out, Oran retreats– unable to admit the flowers in his hand are from a boyfriend and not for a girlfriend, dismissing Ezekiel’s declarations of love with hedges and deflections, and even cutting him down with remarks about desire. It’s painful to watch, precisely because it feels so recognisable: fear masquerading as rejection, self-doubt sabotaging connection. Oran is, in his own words, “happy in suspension”– yet it is the landing, the act of commitment, that terrifies him.
The direction is outstanding. While Woodhouse and Roderick’s script is already strong, TJ Roderick’s vision elevates it with precision and creativity. The piece is structurally strong, balancing moments of playfulness and joy that make the heavier drama hit harder, and featuring choreography that deserves particular praise– Roderick is certainly one to watch. Lighting and sound design further enrich the work: Liam Walton-Bell’s ethereal, fluid lighting choices lift the piece with striking colours, while the original music by Andrés Peña, Parsa Valiany, and Emma Haines/Haiines is thoughtful, uplifting, and well-judged. Just as effective are the silences, which ground the piece and make the music shimmer all the more when it arrives.
Overall, Lightbulbs captures the paradox and struggles of love with honesty and artistry. It’s quick, tender, and full of truth– a piece that glows long after the lights go out.
Lightbulbs is playing at the Jack Studio Theatre until August 23rd at 7:30 pm. Grab your tickets here!