Squidge – an unlikely hero.

It seems like it’s been a while, but I suppose it was only a few weeks in reality, since I last reviewed a piece of theatre, and I’m so glad it was this production. The team at White Noise Theatre invited me to see ‘Squidge’, a one-off, work-in-progress premiere at The Cockpit on Sunday – a big thank you to Tiggy Bayley and Slewing Hulme-Teague for the invitation. That’s how, on a autumnal Sunday evening, I found myself in a backstreet just north of Marylebone station, and inside a small auditorium with little more than a red chair in the centre of the room.

Lights up, and immediately we’re confronted with interactive theatre. I think to myself, ‘oh god, no’ and begin to worry about what we are in for over the course of the next hour or so. But this is all simply an introduction to Squidge, the show’s unlikely hero. This premiere, ‘Squidge’ is the brainchild of Tiggy Bayley and directed by Selwin Hulme-Teague and appears to take place in an undisclosed town somewhere southern England.

The set is bare. A sole red chair, the kind one would find in a reception classroom, many sizes too small for an adult to sit on, is the only prop that Daisy, our protagonist played by Bayley, uses throughout the piece. She takes to the stage, commands the audience and lulls us quickly into a feeling of familiarity. It’s simple, effective and allows the audience to hone in on the story she then starts to weave.

Despite my initial reservations – confronted with interaction isn’t my forte – I’m glad for this introduction to Squidge. It puts us at ease, and quickly we find ourselves cheering for Daisy as though we’ve known her for a lifetime, and we’re on her side.

Seamlessly, we’re taken on a journey, exploring the complexities of identity, bereavement, mental health and family expectations, and perhaps of finding one’s place in the world. Yet it’s not a diluted whistle stop tour trying to squeeze in as many buzzwords as possible, but a carefully crafted mirror of the ordinary, of routine. How we react to life’s pressures, deal with the hand we’ve been dealt, and dust ourselves off is reflected in this piece.

I particularly liked Bayley’s exploration of grief and bereavement, not only of Daisy, but of the young Irish traveller in her charge, Paddy. It’s authentic and raw, as we busy ourselves with distractions, bottling up our emotions. It’s joyous to hear the resolution told between these two that comes full circle and the boundaries of who is in charge of who are muddled.

There are a lot of characters to this piece that Daisy narrates. Rather than being confusing or additional noise, each brings a specific dynamic that explains more about our lead: the sexy plumber, her mother, a teacher at school. Combined, they all give us additional context, texture and depth, and paint a detailed picture that is not only believable but the truth.

And Bayley’s energy throughout is incredible. We sit captivated in her palm waiting with bated breath at her every word. The pace is considered, balanced, thankfully not rushing through more tender moments and drawing out the mundane. The ingenious staging, simple yet effective is also worth note, proving that not having bells and whistles isn’t preventative to good, if not great theatre.

For a work-in-progress, I was astounded by how polished the piece felt. And honestly, save for wondering how this could translate to other stages and whether there was any more in the mother-daughter relationship to explore, I had no further notes – save for perhaps the disappointment that readers of this review have missed their chance this time around to immerse themselves in Daisy’s world. My hopes are that Bayley and Hulme-Teague go on to produce a run of ‘Squidge’ in the not too distant future, and if they do, I’d encourage all to purchase tickets, no shadow of a doubt.