Phoenix is about a journey from constriction and avoidance to inner freedom.
Dressed in flowy dungarees, and big, curly blonde hair, Helen is like a children’s storybook character. There is an intention to heal, which is manifest in her radiating warmth, and inviting eyes. She sets the scene with the cosy familiarity of a night in with a friend, drawing us in with intimacy. She confesses to being a Towie addict, and this comedy takes a turn, exploring different ways people numb themselves.
The lightness and humour in her stories float above uncomfortable feelings. She squishes these down, dancing away the pain, and distracting herself. She shows us snippets of her life; her relationships, growing up, and her experiences as an actor. These personal moments feel sincere and make the relatable ones all the more so. We follow her as she weaves in and out of anecdotes with a nimbleness. Her poetry is witty and lyrical, balanced with sudden moments of frankness and pausing to reflect. Harry Lovell-Jones’ percussion sizzled and supported her flow. I liked that the drumbeats sometimes sounded like they were punctuating a joke, but in fact left her words hanging in the air with melancholy.
Helen’s expressions, movements, and vocal performance were captivating. Her wide-eyed wonder and panic, and searching eyes conveyed a desperation. Even when a shift happens and Helen feels empowered, there is still a longing. She transmutes into a witchy, alchemist version of herself, and the flow of her speech is spell-like. Her eyes are still searching – her proclaimed healing belies an incompleteness, which was actually more soothing and comforting to see, like witnessing the beginning of change. Phoenix is a stark wake up call for those in relationships or situations that demand you sacrifice your needs and feelings.
Reviewer: Riana Howarth
Reviewed: 8th November 2024
North West End UK Rating:
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