Recent critical acclaim for Ella Hickson's once student production Eight, and successful runs in Edinburgh and New York, prompt the question – just how good can a set of monologues on a blank stage be? The answer – exceptional. Ella Hickson wholly fulfils her aim to throw light on a destitute generation, whereby 'a little struggle may be no bad thing. For it's only when times get really tough that you work out what really matters – and maybe, by then, we'll be ready to believe in it.' She shares a desire for meaning and power with the audience through the simple act of inviting us to make a decision about the show.
Upon entering Trafalgar Studios, the audience casts digital votes for which characters they would like to hear from (from a menu of eight prepared monologues) before sitting back in a minute, dark room and facing the cast, who stand staring blankly ahead. The moment they walk off the lights dim: who will we hear from first? My choices were Bobby the single-mother, Jude the granny-lover, Astrid the cheater/cheated (?), and finally Miles the London bombings survivor. I was largely successful, with only the flamboyant André outscoring Miles – surprising as it was July 8th. Nevertheless with their re-entrance, regardless of personal selections, the audience are powerless to resist the characters and their pathos, their various instances of in-depth torment.
That's not to say that Eight is exempt from weakness. Although each monologue plays with your emotions, the inability of any character to deliver their narrative without bursting into tears is irritating. In some cases this leads to an artificiality, thinning the naturalistic experience. Conversely, it works for some: Simon Ginty as Jude perfects youthful anger, with his energetic ramblings that transform into rejected whimpering a piece of pure acting brilliance. Likewise cheated-on Astrid (Gwendolen von Einsiedal) is an unexpected winner, thanks to a perfect blend of humour and heartache.
Of the four monologues, single mum Bobby (Holly McLay) is the weakest. Whilst her story is sad in the right places, and gains a few chuckles, it's clichéd: who hasn't heard an account of a penniless single mother, bitter at the absent father and unjust class system? Yet, her isolation makes her likable, and Bobby provides a subtle, low-key section for the show. The finale, Michael Whitham as André has the opposite effect – his hard-hitting comments on the gay community and relationships leave my understandings completely altered.
Overall, Eight works. Its reliance on the acting and writing, removed from fanciful settings, draws out character isolation, enhancing the relationship between content and audience.
There's one annoying drawback to the show. The only way you might get to see the other four monologues performed is to chance another showing, yet there is no guarantee! This sore temptation points to the power of the show, its success - her enticement encourages us to re-visit the world of these eight people, and based on this first show, I would encourage it. Go, then go again! Eight is a more than worthy show, which offers an insightful look at an individual's power. A must-see!
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