Writer: Sean Daniels
Director: Matt Ryan
When thinking about plays which explore addiction, it is often something like People, Places and Things, rich in bleak realism, that you think of. Yet The White Chip, arriving in the UK from an Off-Broadway stint, full of humour and hope, offers a uniquely personal take.
The production, an autobiographical piece penned by Sean Daniels, follows alcoholic Steven, who, for a large part of the piece, functions quite well as a high-functioning alcoholic. This is a neat take in itself, with the production not tempted to wander down the typical depiction of an addict, and this is where Daniels’ own experiences, as an addict desperate to hold down a successful theatre career, while wrestling with a fractious relationship with ill parents, breathes new life into this topic.
We follow Steven through numerous trials and tribulations, though not all negative. Steven’s success as a theatrical producer is celebrated, before personal and professional pressures draw Steven back to a long-standing relationship with the bottle, eroding everything around him in the process. Daniels’ writing is rich in humour but also in authenticity, as each experience feels lived and real, helping to craft a gripping leading character in Steven. That said, as Steven gets clean, the production becomes a little too preachy in its faith versus science approach, and the play’s plotting rushes through some of Steven’s rehabilitation.
Ed Coleman’s electric and exhausting portrayal of addict Steven, layered richly by Daniels’ starkly personal writing, is mesmerising. Coleman crafts the character well, depicting each high and subsequent low with fun and devastation in equal measure. Given the production’s decision to stage the piece in a thrust configuration, Coleman’s proximity to the audience etches Steven’s grappling with his addictions in a stark clarity that earns its poignant conclusion. Coleman is non-stop for over 90 minutes in this piece, but never skimps on the characterisation.
Alongside Coleman, Mara Allen, and Ashlee Irish perform a multitude of roles, conveying the various individuals who float in and out of Steven’s chaotic existence. Ranging from Mormon parents, exasperated employers and mistreated lovers and friends, the pair works tirelessly to quickly and effectively throw us into Steven’s messy world. The frantic nature of the piece captures the manic nature of his addiction, and this is bolstered by the terrific efforts of the duo.
It is a production heightened by its modest yet impactful design choices. Jamie Platt’s lighting encapsulates the two stages of Steven’s life well: the depths of addiction and then the attempts to get clean. The blends from the bold pinks, greens and yellows of Steven’s drunken antics are contrasted sharply with a brutal, sterile white while on rehab, signifying the cleansing that Steven needs multiple attempts at to make work. This is an interesting take, given that the drunken stupors look more fun than the harsh rehab environment, unflinching in the portrayal that getting clean is not a quick remedy.
Meanwhile, Lew Newby’s set design relies on small props and moveable chairs and tables to shift us through Steven’s journey, leaving debris behind at each junction ranging from confetti to a chalk and tape drawn ‘white chip’, a symbol of sobriety, which helps to evoke Steven’s frenetic existence.
The White Chip is not the typical ‘addict gets clean’ story you might expect. It is ferociously funny, at times uncomfortably so, yet it is also a piece that shines a light on the depths addicts go to to disguise their desires, and their shame, from those around them. Undoubtedly, Daniels’ personal experiences help here, and despite the smallness of the production, it is large in spirit and emotion.
Runs until 16 August 2025
