Tense, tender and deeply unnerving
It’s been 21 years since she disappeared. Then, one night, a young woman turns up at the door – bloodied, shaken, and recounting details only a long-lost sister could possibly know. Do you let her in? Or do you keep the door firmly shut?
Little Sister follows three siblings thrust back together by this impossible return: the eldest, presumed lost; the dutiful middle child who has held everything in place; and the youngest, still fragile, still living in the shadow of absence. From the outset, we are invited to study them closely. Who are they now? Who were they then? And crucially – what does each of them want?
The production leans confidently into its folk horror frame, weaving an eerie Irish folkloric thread throughout. There is something ancient humming beneath the domestic setting, something unsettling that never quite shows its full hand. The atmosphere is sustained with control and restraint, allowing tension to simmer rather than explode. It’s subtle and powerful, never blatant, never obvious.
The writing feels embedded and found in the moment – conversations overlap, emotions flare and retreat with realism. Flynn delicately sprinkles breadcrumbs through the script, guiding us towards a twist that lands with quiet brilliance. When it comes, it doesn’t scream for attention; it simply shifts the ground beneath your feet. The audience is asked to reassess everything. Is this really the sister? And if not – who is she?
Importantly, moments of comedy are threaded throughout, offering brief relief before another sharp turn plunges us back into uncertainty. That balance is carefully judged. Just as we settle, the unease creeps in again.
The performances are strong and grounded, each actor fully inhabiting the shared history that binds these women. We feel the weight of the missing years, the blame that lingers, and the questions that were never answered. The impact of a missing person ripples far beyond the individual – into family, community, and those who try to help. Fingers point home. They always seem to.
Lighting and sound are supportive and effective, enhancing mood and subtly marking shifts in time and place without ever distracting from the story.
Liam Rees’ direction is confident and slick. The pacing is sharp, the storytelling clear and generous. Above all, the piece explores how grief changes you – how it can eat you alive, or quietly turn you into something unrecognisable.
A wonderful, eerie and unsettling production that lingers long after the door closes.
Watch Little Sister at The Glitch, Waterloo, London until 1st March.