Review: We Need to Talk, a Jazz Cabaret (Blue Balloon Theatre, GM Fringe)

Tuesday 19 July 2022
International Anthony Burgess Foundation

The Greater Manchester Fringe is on throughout the month of July at various venues around Greater Manchester. And, once again, I’m going to be reviewing a selection of the productions on offer for this blog, and also for The Festival Show on North Manchester FM.

On Tuesday 19th July, I was at the International Anthony Burgess Foundation to review We Need to Talk, a Jazz Cabaret by Blue Balloon Theatre. The radio version of this review will be going out on The Festival Show on Friday 22nd July, but here’s the blog version…

So, I started this year’s Fringe by seeing Pill by Rebecca Phythian, one half of Blue Balloon Theatre. The other co-founder of Blue Balloon is Jas Nisic, and We Need to Talk is her piece at this year’s festival – so it seemed right (especially after enjoying Pill) to go and see it and complete the pair!

We Need to Talk, a Jazz Cabaret is a very different type of show to Pill, which was a solo monologue with autobiographical experience. We Need to Talk is a musical performance – as it says in the title, it’s a ‘jazz cabaret’.

Specifically, Nisic tells the story of a break-up through jazz, lounge and torch songs, interspersed with storytelling narration. It’s an ambitious performance – and I should add that I saw the show on the hottest day in Britain since records began, which made it a very ambitious performance. The show last two hours, with two short intervals and two costume changes, and for most of that time Nisic is singing. I have to take my hat off to her for getting through this on Tuesday night (though I also have to take my hat off to the International Anthony Burgess Foundation for managing to maintain a perfectly pleasant temperature inside the venue for the audience!).

Nisic – accompanied by Dave Cavendish on piano – performs a repertoire of classic songs of the twentieth century that move through the various emotions of a relationship and relationship breakdown. I imagine all the songs will be reasonably familiar to audiences, and it’s easy to imagine the emotional trajectory of the selected numbers (in fact, I’m willing to bet you can already guess a couple of the songs that were included even if you didn’t see the show). This is significant for reasons I’ll come back to shortly.

First thing’s first… Nisic can really sing. I’ve heard her perform a couple of her own compositions before, which were in a more contemporary style. But now that I’ve seen We Need to Talk, it’s clear to me that she has a voice that’s perfectly suited to the rich contralto resonances of jazz, and with the power to really supply the force needed for some of the more emotional elements. Nisic’s singing alone was enough to make We Need to Talk an enjoyable show – but that’s not the only selling point here.

Nisic’s performance was charmingly idiosyncratic. Or idiosyncratically charming. I’m not sure which is the best way to describe it.

As We Need to Talk begins, she bounds up to the microphone in a short, sort of 60s-style dress, chunky black boots with love hearts on them, and flicked black eyeliner. As the first number begins, she shouts a greeting to the audience (with the obligatory repeated requests for a more enthusiastic response) before gleefully announcing, ‘Isn’t being in love sick?’ in an unmistakably Manc accent.

Nisic’s narration of the relationship and its breakdown continues in this style. Littered with colloquialisms, plenty of swearing, a few references to bodily functions (including a bit of a gross description of the aftereffects of a £9.99 deal at a Chinese buffet) and pop culture touchstones that include Game of Thrones, Friends and the Build-a-Bear workshop. It’s funny, in-your-face and very relatable – Nisic keeps the details of the relationship just on the right side of vague (including the gender of the former partner), allowing the audience ample opportunity to superimpose their own experiences onto the narrative.

And this is important, as there’s a feeling of universality to We Need to Talk. As the title reveals, the show isn’t concerned with narrating a unique individual story, but rather at gesturing to something more universal. I don’t know anyone who has ever actually used the words ‘We need to talk’ to signal the end of a relationship, but the words are such a recognizable shorthand that we all know what they mean. Similarly, the trajectory of the break-up story being told is also recognizable – the desperation, the bottles of wine, the tubs of ice cream, the cringeworthy messages, the new flame, the rebound date, the attempt at reconciliation, are threaded together in a way that we can understand and, even if we haven’t done those exact things ourselves, relate to.

Which brings us on to the songs… It might seem like an odd choice to combine a sweary, shouty, down-to-earth story about a definitively twenty-first-century break-up with old jazz standards by the likes of Ella Fitzgerald and Julie London, but it really does work here.

On the one hand, there’s a real charm to the way Nisic (or her on-stage persona, at least) narrates her own heartbreak and humiliation through the somewhat elevated medium of classic jazz and blues standards. In the grand scheme of break-ups, the one being described is pretty mundane, but the musical accompaniment gives a light-hearted grandiosity that lifts it out of its ordinariness.

But on the other hand, We Need to Talk really emphasizes the power of the songs being performed. How amazing is it that, in 2022, ‘Cry Me a River’ (the Julie London song, not the Justin Timberlake one) is still a go-to break-up song? That people can still listen to it and think, ‘This song is totally about me’? Some of the songs that Nisic performs are even older – ‘All of Me’ is over 90 years old, and ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’ is nearly 100 years old. For these songs to still be able to form the soundtrack to the end of a relationship is pretty impressive. Nisic’s powerful performance of the numbers really underlines their continued cultural and emotional resonance.

I’ve commented on Nisic’s vocal abilities, but this was only part of the musical performance. We Need to Talk isn’t simply a narration punctuated by musical numbers. Instead, Nisic makes the songs part of the narration, incorporating them fully into her story. Although clearly well able to perform the songs ‘straight’, Nisic often interposes her own style to underline the significance or relevance of the song she’s singing (or for comedy effect, of course) – she slips into a more Mancunian delivery of lines in places, or emphasizes certain words and lines to make a point. Highlights for me were a particularly frenetic performance of ‘All of Me’ in a desperate attempt to ‘bribe’ the soon-to-be ex-partner to stay, followed by the sad resignation of a quieter, more vulnerable performance of ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’. I also enjoyed the comedic performance of ‘Fever’ to narrate a drunken rebound date, which gets more lascivious and slurred as the song goes on. And as I’ve already noted, ‘Cry Me a River’ makes an appearance when the ex reappears seeking reconciliation. The almost confrontational style in which this one is performed is very good fun to watch.

We Need to Talk is a truly joyful show with a lot of charm. Nisic’s stage persona is endearing and relatable, and her vocal performances are impressive and assured. Ultimately, the experience of watching We Need to Talk is a bit like watching a friend go through a break-up, but a friend who’s really good at singing jazz.

One of the things I enjoy about the Fringe Festival is the rollercoaster of emotions you go on as you work your way through the programme. Each performance can elicit such different emotional responses. With We Need to Talk, the overriding emotion is happiness – at the end of the day, this is a show that will make you smile. And if you’ve endured a gruelling day of unprecedented temperatures, stuffy workplaces and fraying tempers, what more could you possibly want?

We Need to Talk, a Jazz Cabaret was on at the International Anthony Burgess Foundation on 19th and 20th July, as part of the Greater Manchester Fringe. For the full programme of Greater Manchester Fringe shows on this year, please visit the festival website.

Review: Pill (Blue Balloon Theatre, GM Fringe)

Friday 1st July 2022
Salford Arts Theatre

The Greater Manchester Fringe is back for another year. The festival started on 1st July, and runs throughout the month at various venues around Greater Manchester. And, once again, I’m going to be reviewing a selection of the productions on offer for this blog, and also for The Festival Show on North Manchester FM.

Like last year, my festival started at the Salford Arts Theatre (which you might remember from previous years is one of my favourite venues). On Friday 1st July, I was there to review Pill, a theatre performance from Blue Balloon Theatre. The radio version of this review will be going out on The Festival Show on Friday 8th July, but here’s the blog version…

Pill is written and performed by Rebecca Phythian. It’s an autobiographical one-act play, told through monologues and physical performance by Phythian, who is joined on stage by Adam Martyn who takes on the dual roles of Doctor and Boyfriend. After the performance, there was a Q&A with Phythian and Martyn as well.

The ‘pill’ of the play’s title is the contraceptive pill, and the play explores Phythian’s experiences, after being prescribed the combined pill at nineteen, of side effects that damaged her mental and physical health, as well as the difficulties she faced when trying to get help and support for these.

In her expository monologues, Phythian gives a potted account of how she came to be prescribed oral contraception and how quickly she started to experience side effects. It’s tempting to say here that she gives an account of how she chose to be on oral contraception, as technically this is a medication of choice. However, as the play makes clear from the start, this is – particularly for young women – not always an informed choice. The combined factors of pressure from a boyfriend and lack of clear guidance on side effects of the pill are stated bluntly in the early part of the play. Phythian’s matter-of-fact delivery of this encourages members of the audience (many of whom will have been in the same position) to relate.

While there is a little bit of background given as to the history and pharmacology of the pill, this is only offered as context. The real meat of the performance lies in Phythian’s re-enactment of the spiralling descent into depression and reduced libido, and fear of high blood pressure, weight gain and blood clots.

The standout scene that encapsulates this focus comes in the middle of the play. Martyn plays the Doctor, sitting behind a desk and laptop. Phythian plays herself, re-enacting an appointment with her GP in which she asked for help or advice with the side effects she was experiencing. The Doctor responds only to questions about which brand of combined pill she is taking, and whether she should be prescribed a different brand. The issue of the depression Phythian is experiencing is only addressed in a cursory fashion, with a refusal to prescribe anti-depressants as they’re deemed ‘unnecessary’ and a request that she continues the counselling.

But the scene is then replayed – this time, Phythian’s body language and demeanour is different, more visibly anxious and with a creeping sense of desperation. Martyn’s performance remains the same, his responses repeated word-for-word and his body language unchanged.

And then the scene is replayed – again and again – with Phythian becoming more desperate, angry at times, beseeching at others. Her words and tone change over the repetitions, like a crescendo of frustration at not being listened to. Martyn does not change, remaining impassive and unmoved by the increasingly worrying descriptions of Phythian’s state of mind. There’s a painful irony, as Martyn’s repeated explanation of why anti-depressants aren’t necessary includes the line, ‘You’re making eye contact with me’, when he himself rarely looks up from his laptop.

From here, Phythian explores some of the social side effects – such as a deterioration in her relationship (with Martyn returning to play a bemused boyfriend struggling to offer sympathy and support), and the pressure of dealing with a set of side effects – and, sadly, I’m not going to call them ‘severe’ side effects, as Phythian is really only focusing on the common or expected side effects of oral contraception (weight gain, mood shifts, loss of libido); ‘severe’ side effects are blood clots, stroke and death – that are continually brushed under the carpet.

While Pill is an autobiographical piece, it is also a provocative one. It is clear throughout that the intention is to provoke conversation. It’s true, there may be members of the audience who think that these side effects are all known quantities – perhaps they did have it all explained to them by a GP when they were first prescribed, or perhaps they made the choice not to take oral contraception in the first place – the point that is made very clearly and forcefully through the performances here is that so many people don’t know the risks. Or don’t feel able to weigh up risk against benefit in a meaningful way. Pill asks the question of how this can be addressed. How can we talk about this more?

The climactic moment of the play comes when Phythian strips her outerwear off to reveal words written across her body in black marker pen – ‘weight loss’, ‘weight gain’, ‘depression’, ‘high blood pressure’, etc. It’s an unambiguous visual metaphor, and it was clear from the Q&A afterwards that it was one that resonated with the audience.

For me, the real strength of Pill lay in the performances. Phythian is assured in her performance, conveying the desperation, frustration and anger with a compelling mixture of confrontation and vulnerability. She is believable and relatable, and it’s almost possible to believe some of the monologues are off-the-cuff, conversation starters (rather than a carefully scripted performance). When she addresses the audience, visibly tense and frightened, with words written across her body, it’s incredibly moving. As an older woman in the audience, I felt almost protective towards the woman before me on the stage – and this is part of the show’s intention. Again, how can we talk about this more? What role do we play, and what responsibility do we have towards younger generations of women (and, as an audience member pointed out in the Q&A, to trans men, transmasculine and nonbinary people)?

Overall, then, this was a strong start to the festival for me. Excellent performances, a well-written script, and a provocative subject matter made for a very thought-provoking play. I hope to see Pill develop further, as Phythian hinted at some future plans in the Q&A after the show. I’ll be watching with interest for these!

Pill was on at Salford Arts Theatre on 1st and 2nd July, as part of the Greater Manchester Fringe. It will also be on at the Fuse International Festival in London on 8th July. For the full programme of Greater Manchester Fringe shows on this year, please visit the festival website.