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No country for old women: Old Ladies - at Finborough Theatre

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The day after seeing The Old Ladies at the Finborough Theatre , I was describing the play to someone in great detail: about three old ladies who lived in a rickety house in southern England in 1935. Based on Hugh Walpole’s novel and adapted by Rodney Ackland, it is the sort of story with enough believability, humour and mild thriller to stick in your mind. Perhaps it is the lure of this dark, forboding tale of a life without money, to be alone and to be old, that makes you feel attracted to this poverty porn. But then again, given the state of the world, the cost of living, an ageing population, or just the fact that it’s a dog-eat-dog world, it might as well be an every little old lady-for-herself, too. It’s a well-acted and staged piece that moves at a brisk pace, so there isn’t much time to think about it too much. And in the intimate (or should that be claustrophobic?) space of the Finborough, there’s nowhere to avert your eyes. Even if you wanted to.  The scene is a grim Cathe...

Mister cellophane: If I Were Me @sohotheatre


Alienation, tennis balls, struggling daffodils, piles of post it notes. It is all part of the surreal world in If I Were Me.

The piece is billed as the darker consequences of finding a new version of yourself. Selling a product and selling yourself as a product blur together.

If at any point you get lost in the piece, it doesn't really matter. Something weird is going to happen and that will either make you more confused or set you straight.


Upon arriving upstairs at the theatre, someone is hoovering the floor and there are tennis balls on some of the seats. Most of us sat on seats without balls on them but the purpose of tennis balls would only sort of become clearer later in the piece.

The piece presents us with Philip. He is an intern at an advertising agency. He struggles with anyone noticing him in the office. There is a wonderful scene where Hannah, a woman he is trying to ask out on a date makes him get on the floor. She then leaves him there.

A chance encounter with a bearded motivational speaker called Trevor forces him to make some changes.

But on the sidelines there is another person watching the story. While Philip is struggling to be himself, she decides to step in and be him instead.

It's all a bit silly, but part of me wished it went even further to really freak out the audience. After all if we are going to be at a Soho Rising event, which showcases new artistic talent, we probably could be made a bit more uncomfortable.

The piece runs at the Soho Theatre only until 26 March but worth a look. And don't be afraid to move the tennis balls.

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

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