We sat down for an exclusive interview with Louisa Marshall & Amber Charlie Conroy, writers of Clean Slate. A darkly funny, uniquely immersive solo show about weaponised incompetence – think the relatability of Dolly Alderton, the biting humour of Sharon Horgan, and a vicious streak of Sarah Kane.
This show runs from 11th-14th March at The Pleasance – Tickets here.
To Louisa: Performing solo while implicating the audience as “the boyfriend,” how do you emotionally navigate playing rage, comedy, and complicity night after night?
I think it’s about keeping it playful. Despite the rage rooted into the play, at its core Clean Slate is a big game that I am playing with the audience. This is easy to remember when we’re playing duck-duck-goose and dancing together, but it’s also been so important in the more serious, intense moments. Finding the fun, joy and theatricality in the game helps to keep myself and the audience emotionally safe, and each moment to feel fresh each night.
To Amber: What directing challenges and opportunities emerged from designing a show that deliberately refuses passive spectatorship and instead turns the audience into collaborators in the mess?
As soon as we came up with the interactive idea, we couldn’t stop. The possibilities were endless. It was like ‘oh and now get them to say that line! And then do the macarena! And then eat this beef stew!’. It felt incredibly freeing to let the audience become part of the machinery of the show, to involve them so intensely. On the flipside of that we spoke a lot about making sure the audience felt safe. We never ever wanted them to just feel screamed at, they need to be entertained as much as they are manipulated. The biggest directing challenge outside that was probably just running around like a headless chicken trying to play every audience member.
To Both: Clean Slate is rooted in research, lived experience, and anger—how did you shape that raw material into something darkly funny without diluting its political bite?
We were always clear that the work had to be entertaining first. Comedy is an incredibly effective way of disarming people, and we weren’t interested in being didactic or emotionally coercive. The priority was making the audience feel “in on the joke.” From there, the message speaks for itself, prompting people to question the broader socio-political context and take stock of why they’re finding it funny in the first place. For people who have experienced weaponised incompetence, there’s something deeply cathartic about being able to confront it and laugh at it at the same time.
To Louisa: The show weaponises humour to expose weaponised incompetence—what moments of audience recognition have surprised or unsettled you most during performances?
One thing that this process has taught us is that audiences are more predictable than you might think (famous last words…). In Edinburgh there were certainly a few wild cards though. Outside of the odd outrageous audience interjection that probably isn’t printable, what surprised me most was a very specific group of men – usually of a certain age, usually sitting next to their wives – who would visibly shut down and disengage. But little did they know, that response slots perfectly into the narrative of the show. Their silence and withdrawal actually amplify the sense of recognition and collective rage in the room. Those kinds of responses hammer home the point the show is making.
To Amber: How did you use the deconstructed domestic kitchen as both a theatrical playground and a pressure cooker for escalating tension?
I suppose in life, as well as in Clean Slate, the kitchen is a setting rife with possibility; whether that be the possibility of creativity, connection, socialising, or the threat of domestic labour, relationship tension and servitude. I think that the audience brings so much of their own ideas and ego about the kitchen to the show, and Louisa can play off this. Essentially, the fun comes when an audience’s expectation meets Louisa’s dominion of the space, and the kitchen offers so much possibility to play with this. Whether it’s being asked to turn the dishwasher on, or muck in with the dishes, our boyfriends play a huge role in the breakdown of a once perfect domestic space. This breakdown is symbolic to us, it creates a visual language for the allowances women make in hetero relationships, the weight of domestic labour, and the deeply personal feminised nature of domestic roles. Also, our designer Ali is a genius and she makes all this make sense in the set, so my job isn’t hard.
To Both: As the show returns to Pleasance London after its Fringe success, what conversations do you hope audiences continue after they leave the theatre—and who do you most want to feel uncomfortable?
We don’t have a specific group we’re aiming to make uncomfortable (laughing) although you definitely see people squirming. Statistically most of the audience, particularly women, will come in with lived experience of weaponised incompetence, and the inequality of domestic labour is still very real. We hope the show sparks conversations for those people more than anyone. We love seeing so many couples at the shows because you can tell that there’s a boyfriend who’s gonna have to face the music on the journey home haha.
Really though our priority is to entertain. We believe in commentary through comedy. We want people to laugh. But when the laughing stops and the lights come up, we hope the show lingers. If it prompts people to reflect on the systems and dynamics we’re all victims of – and maybe notice them a bit more sharply at home – then it’s done its job.