Single White Female – The Alexandra, Birmingham

Writer: John Lutz

Adaptor: Rebecca Reid

Director: Gordon Greenberg

Psychological thrillers built around the manipulation of an innocent victim have a long history, stretching back at least as far as Gaslight, a title that became a verb and remains part of the language.

Single White Female, the book and its film adaptation, was an example from the 1990s, and both were very much products of their time; in these days of widespread social media use, will the storyline stand up?

In response, adaptor Rebecca Reid has chosen not to make this version a museum piece, but to set it in the present. She describes some of the creative decisions she has had to make in the programme: a starting point was the idea of being able to stalk people quite invisibly online; in the film, our two protagonists meet by chance. She also tells us how she has taken iconic themes from the film but changed them to better fit a stage presentation.

Allie has had a difficult time: her recovering alcoholic husband, Sam, had an affair with a younger girl in rehab, and an acrimonious divorce has followed. She finds herself and her teenage daughter, Bella, living in a (relatively) cheap and not-at-all-cheerful flat. And now Sam announces that his new partner is pregnant, so he’ll be reducing his financial support for Allie and Bella, leaving Allie with no choice but to advertise for a roommate to help with the rent. Enter the enigmatic and manipulative Hedy, who turns their lives upside-down. As soon as she moves in, strange things begin to happen, but this is no ghost story: there’s no supernatural agency at work. Outwardly charming, Hedy drips poison into the ears of those around Allie and becomes the slightly naughty older sister an unhappy Bella never had. One can see the situation escalate minute by minute, and it’s clearly not going to end well for someone.

Designer Morgan Large has worked with Reid and director Gordon Greenberg to create a confined, claustrophobic set: all of the action takes place in the communal area of Allie’s flat. It’s framed by neon rectangles, giving the sense of peering in, or maybe watching the action on the big screen. Scene transitions are accompanied by darkness, flashing neon and loud pumping beats. It’s all set to shock and irritate the audience as we silently shout at Allie about Hedy’s actions. Greenberg does maintain increasing tension via the dialogue and action before the interval, but it is rather heavier on words, and that makes it feel a bit pedestrian. The pace does speed up and become more shocking after the interval as we head into the final dénouement, but the tension never quite lands, making what should be outrageous scenes lose impact and even touch a funnybone here and there.

The characters, too, are pretty flat. While the actors do their best with the script and direction, it’s hard to see them as three-dimensional, especially Allie’s colleague, Graham, played by Andro, and her ex, Sam, played by Jonny McGarrity. Amy Snudden’s Bella is full of teen angst as she tries to cope with the bullying she receives in school and online, and is flouncily, sulkily believable.

The central pairing of Allie and Hedy is where the play stands or falls. The hapless Allie is played by Lisa Faulkner, who brings a believable air of despair as she seems to be backed into corners by those around her, though her voice does seem to get set on a whiny note.  Kym Marsh seems to be cornering the market in psychopaths, having played Alex Forrest in Fatal Attraction and Cruella de Vil in 101 Dalmations: the Musical. She certainly relishes the part, enjoying every twist of the knife Hedy is able to slip into Allie’s disintegrating life. There’s little room for subtlety here, and Marsh rises to the challenge of making the audience positively hate Hedy.

Overall, Single White Female is entertaining benefitting from decent central performances, even if its psychological tension never quite tightens the screw. It works well enough as a night at the theatre, but stops short of the disturbing impact the source material promises.

Runs until 9 May 2026 and on tour