Writer and Director: Naomi Wood
An audacious exercise in staring down the abyss of infinite potential and atoning for conformist virtue, Naomi Wood’s music-infused comedy stage show Monster is witty, heartfelt and hilarious.
Expressing her enlightening thoughts over an hour of free-flowing personal anecdotes and lyrical poetry, Wood begins with the observation that soon after we can see, we’re aware that we can be seen, and develop fear around our exposed condition. She notes that this sense of unease, similar to being in the deep ocean, watched by a multitude of unseen, ravenous creatures, is usually reinforced by crushing comments: “Stop showing off!”
Manifesting her psychological and marine references, Wood is clad in a sea-green catsuit buttressed by golden armour, looking like a cross between smouldering sirens Eva Green and Mata Hari, and Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. Expressive and captivating, with Fleabag-like intensity, she succeeds in holding audience attention throughout her serpentine narrative around the “raw and wriggling” reality of human existence we do so much to hide.
She dwells on her confining Baptist upbringing, uttering the first words ‘Good Girl!’, as she was re-born in holy water, her teenage worries of “all the catastrophic chaos I was capable of”, and the contortions that seeking love forced her into: “I realised I’d been getting intoxicated to cope”, until she snaps at a party, flings her shoe into the beer of a bore and becomes feral and free.
Her original music is impressively synced with the spoken action, especially when she’s evoking surging tides and describing her favourite deep-sea-going creatures: chiefly the bulbous, toothy, luminously-lured female angler fish, Wood’s spirit animal: “Monster, mother, queen of darkness, bringer of light”.
Wood is charmingly vulnerable and open about her love life (“I’m afraid of returning to the river… another date with a hipster barista!”), breakups, hair loss, the death of her father, pressure from casting agents (“Can we do anything to make her younger?”), bending out of shape to fit in, and all things “disgustingly human”. She darts into quantum physics and genetics, weaving scientific theories into her outlook: “We’re afraid of being more chemical processes than people… leaking oxytocin at snot giggles.”
Careful listening is rewarded with innovative words of extremely high calibre: Wood loves playing with them, casually throwing out a slew of new dictionary entries, any one of which could win her an episode of Susie Dent’s Unspeakable. It’s a slight shame that the verbals are emitted at such pace; fortunately, Wood offers breathing exercises on several occasions that alleviate monologue overload.
Further soothing audience fatigue, Wood rolls out her unfailingly amusing thoughts on overwrought voice notes: “4 minutes 37 seconds; sorry for intruding on your day.”
Channelling ancient wisdom, she celebrates the maturation process by which we take on the characteristics of the observer, gain self-awareness, lose the impulse to join in groupthink, and become what we feel like in the moment.
It’s striking that Wood never falters in the rapid delivery of her voluminous content, only stopping to sip water and ask for the music to be turned up, an astonishing feat of memory. The audience is with her all the way, laughing, sighing, engaging, and enjoying the cheesy snacks she hands around. So much happens, but it still feels as if the show ends too soon.
An impressive showcase of funny, relatable writing and performative fluidity, Monster builds on the success of Wood’s acclaimed and globally-toured debut Gobbess. Catch her soon as she sets out on a run of UK dates.
Runs until 29 March 2026
