Writer: Rosaleen Cox
Director: Oisin Kearney
At the centre of the set is a double bed. But it’s not seeing much action. Is it Paul’s performance anxiety, Ciara’s lack of enthusiasm for Paul’s questionable dancing skills, or is nothing as it seems?
The show starts as an anxiety-ridden stress fest: a one night stand off to a terrible start. She’s seeking sexual freedom, he’d much rather Eastenders and a takeaway. They both want things that they’re struggling to find in each other. This awkward romantic comedy transitions into something particularly sinister (the most gripping part of the piece by far), which is then turned on its head only to become a desperate struggle to determine whether love is real or if people simply stay together because they’re afraid to die alone. The production gave the impression of a thrown together sketch at times, particularly in the first half with trite cultural references (Colin Farrell’s eyebrows and Crocodile Dundee) but the talents of the actors carried it through.
The performances in this piece are strong, the nerves are coming off both of them convincingly. Rosaleen Cox and Desmond Eastwood are perfectly mismatched, giving extraordinary tension to the piece. They seem comfortable in the lighter comedic moments (Eastwood’s dancing was right on the mark), but they truly shine in the second half, in the murkier waters of examining a toxic relationship. Oisin Kearney’s adept direction heightens the sense of unease in the piece. The actors skirt around each other, one step forward, two steps back. Emotional threat is ever-present; at times it felt like watching animals in a cage.
Potential is the word that kept screaming out – these actors have the potential to portray the meaty characters that this piece had hints of but needs fleshing out. Potential to be a full-blown production if the writing was fine-tuned. The Fringe is the perfect outlet for a piece like this. Leaving the theatre, two words in mind. More please.
Runs Until 11th Sept 2026.
