Writer: Katie Arnstein
Director: Bec Martin
An autobiographical show about a beloved parent receiving treatment for bowel cancer should not be as all-out hilarious as Katie Arnstein’s latest, The Long Run. But if anyone can turn a life-changing medical condition into an hour of silliness and compassion, it’s Arnstein.
Arnstein describes taking extended leave from her job in London to help her parents, driving her mum to her combined chemotherapy and radiotherapy sessions. After waving her mum through the doors – compared to a concerned parent dropping a child off to their first day of school – she sits and waits in a corridor full of other carers, waiting for “their person”.
It is a trademark of Arnstein’s storytelling ability that these people come alive to us through the description of only one trait each. The cross-stitcher, the man always laughing at whatever he’s listening to on his headphones, all socially distanced and mask-wearing – just as their smiles of shared pain come through when most of their face is hidden, so they emerge to us through the small slivers Arnstein gives us.
And then there’s the runner. Arnstein is initially irritated by George, a pensioner who constantly runs up and down the 200 metre-long corridor, his trainers squeaking with every step. “Spirit of Mo Farah, body of Tom Waits,” is just one of the gloriously colourful epithets of the man she later finds out is called George.
And it is George who changes Arnstein’s worldview. Initially upbeat about her mum being able to beat her cancer – the doctors are confident she will make a recovery, and Arnstein tells us at the start that her treatment worked – Arnstein is cowed by George telling her that nobody beats cancer, because it’s not a battle. You either get the treatment you need to recover, or you don’t.
With a renewed sense of humility comes a touching exploration of George and his life with his husband, Reg – a man who was treated on the same ward, but never got to ring the bell marking the end of a successful treatment regime. The ordinariness of their life together and the devastation of George’s loss are palpable. Older gay characters are almost never portrayed even in LGBTQ+ theatre, so Arnstein pivoting to their relationship in the second half of the piece is to be celebrated.
As George struggles to the finish line of the London marathon, the exploration of the bond he and Arnstein have found is touching. But the route to get there is laden with comedic touches, from dry wit to gut-busting hilarity (including what is possibly the best fart joke since Le Pétomane).
At the beginning of the hour, Arnstein tells us how it ends. When we get there, the moment is thrown away slightly, which is a shame. But all the time in between is truly special.
Continues until 5 March 2023
