There is something quietly exacting about a one person show. It is an island, really, a contained territory where there is nowhere to hide, no supporting architecture of cast to lean on. If it works, it approaches a kind of theatrical purity. If it does not, it is exposed within minutes. I admit, I am a sucker for the form.
Gush, written by Jess Brodie and directed by Becky Hope Palmer, comes close to that sense of honed perfection.
At its centre is a single performer, Jessica Hardwick, who carries the entire evening with considerable control and, at times, something approaching virtuosity. She moves deftly between roles, voices and emotional registers, and if there is a hierarchy within that, it is clear that her articulation of the female experience is where the piece truly finds its voice. These moments feel lived in, precise, and quietly devastating.
The piece itself is a portrait of a woman at a moment of profound emotional convergence. On the brink of motherhood, she finds herself questioning not only what she is about to become, but what she has been up to this point. Identity, sexuality, expectation, fear, hope, all begin to fold in on one another, gathering pressure as the birth of her child approaches. Before she turns into ‘Bug’s mum’ or ‘school run mum’ she has one particular itch she really needs scratching. It is less a narrative in the conventional sense and more a kind of emotional compression chamber, where competing versions of our protagonist are forced into close proximity often with very humorous results.
By contrast, the male roles are less fully realised, her partner for example, ‘sweet Kev, pure and loyal’, sketched rather than inhabited. That may be inevitable in a piece so rooted in a particular perspective, but it does leave her partner figure feeling oddly insubstantial, more absence than presence, which in turn softens the dramatic tension that might otherwise sit at the heart of the work.
The writing is elegant and intelligent, clearly composed with care, but it occasionally tips into a kind of monotony. There are passages where the dramatic temperature dips, where the piece feels more reflective than active, more spoken than staged. It is never less than engaging, but it does, at times, lack a certain propulsion.
Where the production truly excels, however, is in its spatial and technical language. The set, designed by Becky Minto, is deceptively simple, centred on a raised podium, part bed, part platform, part abstract landscape, filled with cushions and possibility. It is an economical piece of design that earns its keep. Over the course of the evening, it shifts identity with quiet confidence, becoming, in turn, a bed, a shower, a site of intimacy, a place of retreat. It is a clever bit of theatrical architecture, doing a great deal with very little.
Sound and lighting are handled with equal finesse, with Niroshini Thambar and Renny Robertson shaping mood and transition without ever drawing undue attention to themselves. There is a coherence to the design that supports the performer without competing with her, which in a solo show is half the battle won. The production is held together with quiet assurance by company stage manager Lee Davis, whose unseen hand keeps the whole machine running smoothly.
What strikes me, watching Gush and then returning home to an episode of the BBC drama Babies, is the curious convergence of subject matter and divergence of language. Both works occupy similar territory, identity, intimacy, the destabilising prospect of parenthood, but where Gush searches for articulation, reaching outward through language, Babies seems to retreat from it, finding meaning in silence, in evasion, in what is left unsaid. (And it does it brilliantly.)
In that sense, Gush feels almost like an argument for expression, for the necessity of putting feeling into words, even if those words occasionally circle their subject. It may not always sustain dramatic momentum, but it is thoughtful, carefully made, and anchored by a performance of real quality.
And in a form that demands near perfection, that is no small achievement
Playing until Saturday 25th April.
Reviewer: Greg Holstead
Reviewed: 14th April 2026
North West End UK Rating:
Running time – 1hr 15mins