Rating
Poor
This is an unprepared mess which appears to deliberately seek to insult its audience.
I’ll keep this review brief, not out of spite but in the hope that honesty might prove more valuable than indulgence. What was presented on stage simply didn’t justify the audience’s time or money. Nor, frankly, does it deserve a lengthy critique.
The premise held promise: Two women, two handbags. An unusual encounter in a Relate counselling waiting room. It starts politely – until curiosity takes over and things go deep throat. Intriguing, intimate, and potentially rich with humour and humanity. The set-up of strangers in a counselling space and the metaphorical and literal unpacking of handbags hints at clever storytelling devices and emotional depth. I might try and write such a play myself, as it quickly became evident that these two hadn’t.
For the first few minutes, as one performer attempts to take a seat blocked by the other’s handbag, there is a flicker of structure, a sense that something has been shaped for an audience. But this quickly gives way to aimless, unmodulated improvisation. While improvisation can be thrilling, particularly in intimate venues like the Hen and Chickens, it requires a foundation, a rhythm, skill, or at least a direction. Here, it felt like watching two friends attempt a dare: perform a fringe show with no script, no story, and no discernible purpose.
Then comes a sudden gear shift: a dildo is produced. What could have been played for bold humour instead feels dated and unearned, like a relic from a 1970s sitcom. From there, the performance devolves further, indulging in lazy and crass stereotypes about the anatomy of men from different nationalities, disparaging British men for poor hygiene and beer bellies. It isn’t provocative. It is just uncomfortable and deeply offensive.
So uncomfortable, in fact, that one audience member in the second row physically ducked out of sight, crouching behind the seat in front of her. I later learned she had brought two male friends along as a treat. Both were dragged onstage, clearly unprepared, and subjected to extended, chaotic participation. To their credit, they responded with good humour and more charisma than anything else in the show. Their presence, though involuntary, ended up providing the only moments of engagement or at least relief.
Before the performance, the box office informed me the show would last an hour. After about 45 painful minutes, both performers slinked offstage with glib remarks that it was “over now.” Rarely has an audience been more relieved.
The Hen and Chickens Theatre is known for providing a diverse, risk-taking fringe scene, but this production risks undermining the credibility of that ecosystem.
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