761; the etymology of the word 'helicopter'.

I went to see Ambika Mod in 'Every Brilliant Thing', and reacted in a very normal* emotional way.

*I was not, nor am I ever, normal.

In case you were wondering, my review on TodayTix — the app I used to swear by and low-key live through many years ago when I had more disposable income, that I have only just rediscovered purely for the purpose of finding a cheap seat and making a memory on a night I happened to be staying up in London — says:

This is pulled directly from my Substack! Subscribe to me now, please!

‘I had no idea what this production would be, going in. I just knew the actors I'd seen recruited to play the solo role are ALL 10/10, and I would love whatever they made. I feel fortuitous and privileged to have had the chance to see Ambika Mod, who I admire immensely, take on this intense and demanding role with such ease and beautiful spirit. I adored the nature of the show itself and how the audience is involved and engaged from the get go; everyone hopped on board and the feeling of community and support in the (amazing) theatre space was really special. There was laughter, ponderous silence, and tears - happy and sad. I'd love to see this play again to experience another actor's embodiment of the role, but also I think Ambika was the most perfect performer I could have seen! Soho Place is also one of my favourite theatres, they're so accessible and kind and innovative with what they do. Thank you Today Tix for the Rush ticket, I feel like it was meant to be.’

@sohoplace, one of my favourite new theatre spaces. ‘Every Brilliant Thing’, now one of my favourite plays. Ambika Mod, obviously one of my favourite actors.

Now, for context; I was in the Writing Workshop space watching my parking timer tick over at 10am when the Rush Ticket offer popped up. My hands shook as I tapped through to book on a hope and a giggling whim, and I wasn’t sure if that was because I was so excited-slash-anxious that this particularly last-minute whim I’d only created early that morning in my pre-coffee state might fall short OR, an even wilder thought, be successful — or if I was jittery because I’d had my first 20mg Brain Pill in a few days and my body was just expressing its alarm. Either way, it worked. I was suddenly going to watch Ambika Mod in the West End that night, from row B of the beautiful Soho Place theatre, for just £25. I felt like I’d pulled off a heist. I smiled to myself because I’d been sort of dreading this night alone in London, feeling a pressure to actually engage on my one dating app and hook someone in for a drink or invite them to bring me room service in my windowless ‘cocoon’ booked through work, but no, now I was taking myself on a theatre date! My likes and pings would have to wait. Oh, and since I’m staying in Piccadilly Circus and seeing this show on Charing Cross Road, I may as well book an early dinner in that vegan place everyone knows, round the corner (literally) from my office. After sorting out my entire evening in one fell swoop and a few taps on a screen, I could relax. More than that — I could look forward. Oh, wow.

I used to review shows regularly on my old blog. A ticket website (that I think was actually another ticket website in disguise, but who’s surprised?) would offer me pairs of free tickets and cover my travel into ‘town’. I’d often use it as an excuse to reconnect with friends I hadn’t seen in ages, take them for pre-theatre drinks — I remember judging the ones who didn’t treat me to a round as a thank you for the free ticket (strangely enough, all of them were male). Lockdown brought an abrupt end to that creative passage of time, just as I was warming up my kind contact behind the scenes to hopefully start up a side hustle wherein I’d — hold onto your hats — actually get paid for my reviews, and have my own ‘column’ on their website... alas. That would have been fun. Although now, looking briefly back at the kind of things I used to write for them, I’m quite glad it didn’t work out. I won’t be too hard on myself, I was never a fully-fledged reviewer, I just loved the theatre with all my heart. And while that might seem like a silly and somewhat naive shortcoming, I actually think it was a strength.

The point I started to make there before I fell down a rabbit hole into a past life was… I reviewed things so regularly back then, I think it’s affected me long-term. Also, lest we forget, I have a GCSE, an A Level and half a degree in Drama — not much to brag about I know, but those little scraps of paper that are now stuffed in a box somewhere in my parents’ garage were enough to forever alter my perspective as an audience member at any show. I sometimes dread seeing anything in the theatre these days, in case it triggers a particularly dramatic memory, exposes an actor for their unsubtle sins or reminds me of a backstage hack I learned somewhere between sleek mirrored studios and cluttered costume cupboards. Much like anyone else, I want to be able to turn down the volume in my brain, hand over the reins to whoever is onscreen or onstage and trust my eyes as I watch everything unfold.

The perfect pre-theatre Pineapple Apricot Cooler, ta very much my dear friend Mildred.

On that note — I was able to appreciate this show, ‘Every Brilliant Thing’, more than anything I’ve seen in a long time, for many reasons. One obviously being Ambika’s outstanding talent; her ability to be at ease, earnest and affable with the audience, keen to tell us a story while also sharing vulnerabilities of a quite complex character and sucking us all right in, hearts first. Also, the muddled mathematics and chaotic organisation of the lists and lines and even entire plot points entrusted to unsuspecting audience members (I LOVED hearing each and every one, shouted from the stalls or politely mumbled from the gallery, the latter utterers being forced to repeat themselves by our playful and gently encouraging storyteller). It kept us engaged throughout, waiting for our turn, which was very clever of the original writers and producers, but also brought a strange one-night-only co-created community into the space.

The signage on the street adjacent to @sohoplace; each phenomenal actor/comedian perfectly presenting bright, cheery misery in their own way.

I so desperately want to see this play again. I want to see each and every actor in their bright, ironic imagery bring this — interestingly, unnamed — protagonist to life, go on their unique emotional journey and build relationships with everyone in the room who just so happens to be there, too. I want to hear my beloved Sue Perkins tell us about her university romance. I want to see Minnie Driver play the keyboard and sing. And how I wish I could have seen Lenny Henry being a child who wouldn’t stop asking his dad, ‘why? why? why?’. Most of all though, I want to see the wondrous Ambika again, and take as many friends and family members with me to understand why I had to write this pseudo-review, which is really just a fangirl’s rave, stitched together from mental notes made as I leaned against the wall outside Soho Place at 9:39pm last Wednesday evening, smoking a squashed liquorice ‘emergency rollie’ my friend had kindly given me and thinking really too intensely about my life and how I’d want it to be told someday, in lists.

Thank you for reading.

G. x