Bizarre but poignant exploration of the fears women face
This article is from 2016.
There are some who will feel on entering the theatre that this show has already lived up to its title. A huge pink fluffy heart is pinned to the back wall of the stage, hairy toys and lurid polythene abound, and on a plastic-covered couch Rhiannon Faith sits breathing through a pink and silver oxygen mask pumped by Maddy Morgan, like some daytime disco version of Dennis Hopper in Blue Velvet.
The reason for the fluffery – both comforting and menacing – soon becomes clear as Faith and Morgan begin by detailing their motivation for creating the show: a therapeutic experiment in facing their fears. Some of these anxieties will be toothless, and responded to with appropriate silliness, like the imaginary lion attacking Faith's right breast (the larger one), or the telephone that once upon a time signalled her being dumped. But there is a bomb dropped about three quarters of the way in which makes clear the difference between neurotic phobia and real fear.
This show won't be for everyone, and the wackiness feels a little forced at times, but for all its buffoonery, brash provocative feminism and fey surrealism, there is an honest heart to this scary shit.
Pleasance Courtyard, until 29 Aug (not 15 & 22), 1.45pm, £9–£10 (£8–£9).