“An electric hour of cathartic criminal exuberance.”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

In a luxury suite in a Manchester Hilton sits a delightful collection of unexpected combinations: a silver tray holds strawberries and cocaine, a wrinkled Sainsburys bag is full of money, a thirty-something wife who but two years earlier felt her personality slipping away strokes her hefty handgun and plans to fly to an extradition-free country thousands of miles away. Such is the setup of Renny Krupinski’s A Dangerous Woman, a one-woman show acted thrillingly by Louise Nulty, laced of twists and twisted humor worthy of its fiery protagonist’s crazed expressions. While the script gets lost occasionally in its own wordiness, Nulty is deftly in command of her character’s story, and delivers an electric hour of cathartic criminal exuberance. 

Monica Sims, Nulty’s protagonist, is at the end of a tragicomic adventure when we first see her. She turns on a camcorder and aims it at a plush corner of her glamorous suite. The show plays out as Sims ‘confesses’ to her crimes, and in the process tells the winding story of how it all came to be. The narrative is certainly winding, but mostly quite compelling, helped along greatly by Nulty’s sharp comedic timing and breakneck pace of delivery. She expounds on her parents’ sham of a marriage, she paints a sweet picture of her romance with charming Colin, and recounts the tragedy of Colin’s ALS diagnosis and progression into vegetative state. These descents are craftily juxtaposed, in a clever move by Krupinski, by Sims’ growing interest in thievery and taking for the sake of taking. 

From swiping some product here and there from her perfume counter job to plotting more brazen robberies, Sims’ criminal preferences are deliciously explored by Nulty and Krupinski over the course of this show. Her recounting of her first serious robbery, of a Halifax, armed with a gun and a carrier bag, is a highlight, both for Nulty’s emboldened physicality and the hilariously dramatic robbery announcement speech she came up with. In moments like these, the cinematic influence of the freedom of criminality is very well incorporated into her rise to larceny; “Pulp Fiction, Dirty Harry… Shrek. It was all in there, my entire movie-going history” she quips.  

The beauty of A Dangerous Woman lies mainly in Sims’ relatable musings and method of liberation. Not that many of us have gone so far as to turn to crime to regain some spark from life, but the desire to become noticed, notorious, and even dangerous, is presented remarkably simply, so as to imply we all have had it in some way or another. On the other hand, some of the assertions Krupinski has inserted into the monologue are perhaps too much of a stretch to fit in with the rest of Sims’ characterization, such as the deeply morose trajectory of her husband’s story. However, in fairness, a central element of the realism of her character is that Sims is not straightforward or easily classifiable, and Nulty is such a dynamic performer that the more puzzling elements of her speech are easy to overlook. 

Credit must also go to the fascinating setup of the ‘confession.’ Sims ostensibly speaks to the ‘camera’ for the entirety of the monologue, a clever sidestep of the inherent strangeness of the one-person show — namely, that there is a crowd full of people sitting in darkness watching an individual ‘speak’ to them — because it roots her delivery in a specific subject. Yet this subject also recalls a wider form of confessional method: the all-seeing eye of digital media and the channels of personal expression it offers. This device adds an entirely new dimension to Sims’ explanation, as she can be seen as both proudly recounting her accomplishments as a housewife escaped from monotony to a life of excitement, and in another interpretation, an individual essentially afraid of letting her achievements go unappreciated. She is both owning her story and definitively preserving it; the audience is left to decide whether her confession is pathetic, or empowering.

Ultimately, though some lines and tangents feel somewhat too ferocious, the lion’s share of A Dangerous Woman is riveting and charming, bleak yet boisterous. Krupinski, winner of the Fringe First award in 2010 for Bare, has crafted another winning character, and Nulty has done a fabulous job of bringing this dangerous, complicated woman to life. 

Reviewer: Nathaniel Brimmer-Beller (Seen 14 August)

“A dynamic, captivating winner of a show.”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

It is rare a show can conjure so many forms of fascination and disbelief, yet still be so funny. Just some of the raw reactions one might experience during Issy Knowles’ one-woman show Model Behaviour may include revulsion, shock, disgust, and most of all, genuine entertainment.  Knowles, herself a former model, takes the audience on a no-holds-barred tour down the rabbit hole of the London modelling industry, which, needless to say, involves some disturbing body expectations, incisive judgement, and dubious morality. Yet Knowles proves to be so much more than simply a guide speaking from experience; she embodies her character with a devil-may-care whistleblower’s confidence, who has seen the mortifying darkness of that life and is miraculously, thankfully, strong enough to laugh about it. With ambitious direction from Rachael Head, and a fiery, impressive script by Knowles herself, their new company Marked Productions has a dynamic, captivating winner of a show on their hands.

Model Behaviour begins with Knowles’ protagonist entering a suspiciously empty casting room, waiting for another shoot to begin, and from there, she walks the audience through how she came to be there, why that shoot in particular is so important, and the highs and lows of being involved in such a world. Knowles is excellent in her role; she manages to balance deep sweetness, nimble humour, and some strikingly merciless quips as she weaves through anecdotes, impersonations and witty insights with ease and well-measured verve. Knowles finds the funniest moments when she slows down, however, whether to simulate a particularly uncomfortable dating experience or re-live a brutally awkward moment between her and a homeless man she tries (and amusingly fails) to be of some assistance to. The humour is, in parts, so bleak (see: “It was the type of party where they served beautiful tiny canapés for everyone to throw up later”) that I would not blame those who might find it too much.

For the production does indeed ‘go there’ in terms of interpersonal, misogynistic abuse in the industry. A particularly nasty sequence towards the end is fascinatingly well-crafted; not only for the unsettling progression of the abusive events themselves, which at a certain point every audience member knows is going towards a terrible development, but also for its effect on the rest of the journey. The show therefore does its job very well, offering both an insight and a stark condemnation regarding the possibilities — both positive, negative and ambiguous — of the fashion industry.

With some fine-tuning, including perhaps a slight shortening of the elements relating to dating life and some more time about the mechanics of the industry, Model Behaviour could be a true standout in fashion-industry storytelling. Here’s hoping Knowles continues to share her voice; I for one would be happy to see whatever she creates next. 

Reviewer: Nathaniel Brimmer-Beller (Seen 11 August)