Review of ‘Flush’: “Loo-ny narrative is way out of tune”

The title left little to the imagination. So did the toilet stamp they put on my hand, which has haunted me all weekend. Not in a good way, though. It’s an excruciatingly bland, boring play. The kind that makes you look at your watch over and over again, only to find out it’s been only one or two minutes since you last checked. And that might be the strongest pathos the play achieves.

It’s not the first time a toilet-based comedy-drama has come to the London scene. It’s not a groundbreaking concept, but there’s still an opportunity for a compelling plot exploring the female bonds from different perspectives and situations. This is nothing of the sort, however. Conceptually, it tries to be. Yet, its execution is so painfully vapid and unengaging that it wouldn’t be far-fetched to say no real story has been written at all.

A cast of five portrays a broader cast of characters, ranging from casual club encounters between two strangers to casual work-colleague chitchat, culminating in a nutty (as they all are) hen party. All of them are a good basis for both poignancy and humour. It doesn’t get anywhere beyond there, though. It’s never funny. And it’s never moving.

There’s nothing more to it other than sketchy roles, predictable jokes, clunky lines, and an overall shallow approach to be every recount. None of the personages comes across as believable. Not because what happens to them isn’t credible or relatable, but because of their superficial and extremely rushed journeys (a bit of a terminological stretch). Consequently, it’s impossible to care for or root for them. Their ideas might resonate with the audience, but on a human level, they trigger absolutely nothing in us — other than, perhaps, the desire to forget them for good.

Hot topics such as the definition of sexual consent or the alienation of trans people from women’s spaces are brought into the equation, but they don’t add anything either from an ideological or emotional point of view. The latter is reduced to a passing comment, whether it could have been one of the piece’s driving forces. The former becomes the guiding thread that glues the rest of the narrative together.

Nonetheless, the script makes little to no effort to delve into any of the characters’ plights. Instead, we’re just given the headlines of what should have been a much more gripping, in-depth story — especially regarding the nature of the issue. Yet, in both cases, the results are the exact same — a thin plot and a pervading sense of disappointment.

The design is adequate, but there’s not much to praise from a design consisting of three open cubicles with graffiti-covered walls. Does it do the job? Yes. Does it impress? No. Does it need to impress? Not really. It is what it is without having to be anything else. Inevitably, though, that also affects the impression it leaves on the spectator, which is higher than the script, but still not something memorable or conversation-worthy.

The performances fail to convince for the most part. There is some rapport among the cast, but their renditions often come off slightly artificial and rather one-dimensional. Their range isn’t remarkable either. Some manage to differentiate their characters better. But even when they do, they lack genuineness and nuance. And in the end, their interpretation is unresourceful and underdeveloped.

Although flooded with potential, its success is clogged by a clumsy delivery, displaying little to no substance and virtually no flow. As such, considering Flush anything but an unprepared product would be a pipe dream, as the only thing that proves is how being on the can doesn’t necessarily mean being in it. Ultimately, all its promises go down the drain.

All pictures credit to Alex Brenner.

Flush plays at London’s Arcola Theatre until 6 June. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara