Review: Flush (Arcola Theatre)

Review by Izzy Tierney

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

After rave reviews at The Edinburgh Fringe, Flush finds its new home at Dalston's Arcola Theatre, turning the stage into a bathroom and a bathroom into a stage. Unlike the three toilet cubicles that start the show vacant, I'm pleased to say I was immediately engaged.

Over the course of one club night, sixteen women attempt to navigate life as they dance amidst the chaos in the women's bathroom, turning the toilets into cubicle confessionals. Lara is hiding from an old friend-turned-enemy; Noe is escaping the boredom of her Hinge date (who, of course, has the obligatory photo of him holding a fish on his profile); and Maid of Honour Liv, with bridesmaids El and Aisha, are trying to keep everything together for their friend's Hen Do. Meanwhile, a group of sixteen-year-olds with fake IDs have infiltrated the club; Tanya is dealing with the casual transphobia that surrounds her whilst uplifting her bisexual friend Jules; and American Billie is trying to fit in with her co-workers and stay positive amidst the loneliness of moving abroad, before a sexual assault leaves her in even more desperate need of a friend.

The writing is incredibly powerful, thanks to April Hope Miller's commitment to creating complex female characters who are messy, flawed and relatable. The play brilliantly shows the ways in which women unknowingly uphold, work to dismantle, and fight back against rape culture, with interactions exploring the danger of believing the same misogynistic rhetoric used to oppress them. A poignant example of this is the teen girls’ clear lack of education around consent and their own bodies, laughing at a fellow student they call ‘Hairy Hannah’ for not shaving her bush, seemingly unaware of the fact that pubic hair is normal and not unhygienic, but more worryingly ignorant to the context of which this information was made public in the first place: Hannah being assaulted. Despite knowing that Hannah passed out and woke up to the sexual activity happening, they decide it must be fine, as she was kissing the guy beforehand, and he's one of the ‘nice ones’. It's a hard but necessary watch, demonstrating the need to teach young girls more about consent, victim blaming, and the way patriarchal standards and porn have conditioned women to think there is something wrong with their natural bodies.

Despite tackling heavy topics like this, the script is actually very funny, consistently making the audience laugh with its often embarrassing relatability. Each character has their own charm and chance to shine with witty dialogue, funny sequences and emotional moments. The tone of the show remains absolutely sure of itself, showcasing Miller's impressive ability to combine comedy with such serious, heartfelt scenes without the play ever feeling disjointed.

Adding to the realism is Ellie Wintour's bold, neon set of graffiti-covered cubicles that accurately represent the funky kind of toilets often found at a club. Her costume design fits the women's personalities and club aesthetic perfectly, whilst also being a very useful tool for keeping track of the characters. The bridal party wear pink with sashes, the teenagers are all in purple tops and mini skirts, Lara and Noe are both in green dresses, Tanya and Jules wear denim, and Billie's coworkers all wear their white shirt and black bottoms uniform. For their company costume party, they simply add headbands, like a halo and devil horns, whereas Billie dons sunglasses and a blue hoodie with ‘BLESSING’ written across it, making her a punny ‘blessing in disguise’ and cleverly showing she is an outsider right from the start.

The cast is all fantastic, with Ayesha Griffiths, April Hope Miller and Joanna Strafford each playing four roles, Miya Ocego playing three, and Jazz Jenkins playing the vulnerable Billie whose longing for connection is cruelly taken advantage of. Miller and Griffiths have great chemistry as Lara and Noe, forming a wholesome friendship as they reveal their secrets through a shared cubicle wall. Ocego is wonderfully unapologetic in her transness as Tanya, and incredibly funny as sixteen-year-old Flo trying desperately not to get in trouble after unexpectedly running into a relative, who, of course, threatens to call her mum. Strafford portrays El with a raw frustration as a woman battling both an eating disorder and the lack of understanding that comes with it.

The standout performance is from the show's writer as Liv, the loud, bubbly social worker who radiates confidence and warmth. Miller plays drunk very well, resembling a woman we've all met at some point who compliments your outfit and drunkenly declares you their friend. Her compassion and sincerity shine through her every interaction as Liv, and as she comforts Billie and shares her own experience of sexual assault, the hurt, anger and strength in her words is exceptionally moving. Paired with Jenkins’ heartbreakingly honest performance as Billie, the scene is a painful, beautiful presentation of female solidarity at its best. 

The disheartening reality is that violence against women and girls remains constant, woven into the fabric of our society and remains almost completely unpunished. Plays like this are extremely necessary for reminding survivors that they are not alone and that what happened to them is never their fault. Discussing the relevance of her play, April Hope Miller writes: “in a world of rising misogyny, the frightening expansion of the manosphere, and the domination of toxic masculinity and the male loneliness epidemic in the cultural zeitgeist, work that celebrates women and the sanctity and strength of sisterhood feels so unbelievably important,” and I couldn't agree more. Art about women, written by women, showing the real-life agony and beauty of womanhood, has never been more vital in its existence.

Unashamedly earnest and fiercely funny, Flush is the undeniably important feminist theatre we urgently need more of.

Flush plays at the Arcola Theatre until 6th June. Tickets at https://www.arcolatheatre.com/event/flush/

Photos by Alex Brenner