Review: Consumed (Park Theatre)

Review by Lily Melhuish

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Consumed at the Park Theatre opens with a clear, uncompromising thesis: trauma begets trauma. Karis Kelly’s black comedy claims that fear and pain are inherited, absorbed, and passed down through generations like an unwanted heirloom. Set against the long shadow of The Troubles in Northern Island, the play suggests that the consequences of violence ripple far beyond those who directly lived through it, altering the emotional and psychological DNA of their children, their children’s children, and beyond. 

There’s instant life in Lily Arnold’s set, a hyperrealistic kitchen-living space in Bangor, Northern Island. You want five minutes alone just to read the pamphlets on the fridge, admire the ingredients in the cupboards, and familiarise yourself with every miniscule detail before any action begins. The oven light signals heat, pots crowd the stove, and clutter is curated enough to feel lived-in, not staged. Into this meticulously built home come four generations of Northern Irish women gathering, reluctantly, for great‑grandma Eileen’s 90th. 

Katie Posner’s direction keeps the air constantly shifting with who’s in the room and who holds the power. The matriarchal baton moves like a physical force, sometimes passed gently, but more often hurled with venom. When the eldest sits, the youngest bristles; when the middle generations gather, the others regress. Posner catches those micro‑changes with stealth and pace, letting a birthday toast sour into conflict before a glass hits the table. As dominance rotates, so does our sympathy, and each interaction invites the audience to consider the lingering torment and resulting resentment from each perspective.

As great-grandma Eileen Gillespie, Julia Dearden is wickedly funny and unsentimental; long past the age of softening a punchline. She fires off barbs with the precision of someone who’s been sparring for decades, and Dearden delivers that sarcasm with expertise as she sits stoic at the head of the table while her family flag around her. The primary source of that flapping is Eileen’s daughter Gilly, who’s desperate to keep the party on track with brittle cheer. The manic giggle that repeatedly flutters out of her, shrill and melodic, quickly becomes a tell: a pressure valve disguising a core worn away by years of swallowing pain. Irvine’s command of the room, even when she’s pretending everything is fine, makes for a truly enthralling viewing experience.

Gilly’s daughter Jenny, played by Caoimhe Farren, is a flammable live‑wire. Noticeably itchy in her childhood home, tugging at a new pixie cut, clinging to her work emails for escape. Farren nails the embarrassing truth of familial regression: the forty‑something who morphs into the teenager her mother still sees. She’s especially good at the play’s physical score, with too‑fast lunges into an argument or wobbly ankles and a slightly off‑kilter sway as her character becomes increasingly intoxicated. The comedy lands, but so does the ache of someone who can’t quite shake her mother’s disapproval.

Muireann Ní Fhaogáin is the black sheep of the family as Jenny’s daughter Muireann, the London‑raised granddaughter who’s repeatedly labelled “English” as a jab. She works hard to give the character backbone, and when sparks finally fly you glimpse the same ferocity that runs through the family line. The writing, though, doesn’t always give her the same complexity afforded to the others. Too often Muireann is tasked with explaining the thesis - delivering research, context and moral compass - when the actors’ behaviour is already speaking volumes. You sense the intention: a teenager steeped in information trying to locate where it lives in her body. These exposition‑heavy speeches flatten her arc; her eventual emotional eruption feels too neat and idealistic in comparison to the messy, instinctive volatility of the others. A little more mystery, more space for us to connect the dots, would let her stand as a character first and a manifesto second.

Karis Kelly’s dialogue, at its best, is painfully recognisable: the maternal ‘advice’ that lands like a slap; the way a tone of voice manages the insult even when the words don’t; the instinctive prodding at old wounds because your sores are the same. The play is very funny in those confrontations, but where the writing is less surefooted is in its faith in subtext. There's clearly been rigorous thought and care in the making, but it doesn’t always trust that we’ll read what’s already visible in the room. At 80 minutes, Consumed is impressively packed, yet the compression can become a shove towards a dramatic climax that arrives too fast and too forced. In those liminal beats, before the point is declared, Kelly could give her audience the benefit of the doubt, and trust that her message is translating just fine.

Consumed argues that trauma, left untreated, grows deep roots. Posner’s production embraces that idea with clean ensemble work, giving each performer space without losing momentum, and Arnold’s kitchen set is a triumph of domestic storytelling. When the production trusts its details and its actors, it’s compelling, and with a lighter touch on the lectern and a little more air between revelations, it could be exceptional. 

Consumed plays at the Park Theatre until 18th April. Tickets from https://parktheatre.co.uk/events/consumed/

Photos by Helen Murray