Drip Feed – Review

Photo by Aly Wight
There’s always an undeniable trepidation around committing to seeing a one-actor show. If it’s not one of your newly self-proclaimed actor friend who’s invited you to their self-indulgent ramblings, then you probably don’t go. This would be doing yourself a great disservice in the case of Drip Feed which proves that it can be a heart-warming and gratifying experience.
 
Brenda has become part of the furniture in Cork, between queuing in line to collect her dole, to drunken nights spent hanging around outside of her girlfriend’s house. She’s not getting any younger and those nights of getting blind drunk and vomiting up this morning’s breakfast roles is getting tiresome to those around her. Her time is mostly spent waxing poetically about her girlfriend Olivia, who we see through her rose-tinted vision of the girl to whom she means everything.  Sitting alone on a pullout amongst the strewn furniture of Brenda’s life, Karen Cogan brings to life the effervescence of streets of Cork and those whom she encounters on a particularly low weekend of binge drinking. 
 
We’ve all been there. One bad decision after another and suddenly you look around you and all you can see is detritus of the mess you’ve made for yourself. This piece potently portrays that dreaded sense of “oh crap, I’ve fucked up again” in a way that you can’t help but find relatable. It comprehensively etches out a life that most of us are cordial with, but have never before been made to sit down and understand. You know a Brenda, there are one or two of her in your local town who you can just feel as being stuck suckling on to the little joy then can draw from their stifling lives. You may have gone to school with her, but when you bump into her when you’re back home it’s never more than an “oh, hey” and smile you can only muster by showing your teeth. Drip Feed has you sitting in that girl’s living room, has you sitting there silent and as she makes you listen to her story, however tragic.
 
This is a performance that lingers, and tugs on those strings of queer compassion around those people who didn’t quite make it out of your hometown. Cogan’s performance is one that rings authentic, boisterously grappling your attention as she holds your focus on those (sometimes gross) realities of life. 
 
by Ifan Llewelyn
 
Drip Feed is at the Soho Theatre until the 20th of October, to buy tickets and find out more head over to SohoTheatre.com. 
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