It is a pleasure to be part of Arcade Theatre Company’s first opening night and, by the look of it, their first sell out performance. FOLD, by Jo Randerson, is about five friends – but not with any depth to the word – who mark occasions together with generic but equally large gifts and champagne. They bluster and laugh uproariously but their jokes and their behaviours darken as the show progresses. 

As the audience wanders across the stage, five of the cast of six are moving languidly and blindly about the space, dressed in hospital gowns and sensible white undies, each with a single piece of cocktail party dress to mark their status as high net worth individuals. As the audience settles, they are joined by the sixth member, Sam Shannon who tap-dances and lip syncs with the others dancing behind her. There is a mood of Frankenstein or perhaps a zombie apocalypse which is arresting. Shannon’s blank yet somehow very expressive face hints at the awfulness to follow.

Abby Howells, Nick Tipa, Ben McCarthy, Alex Martyn and Marea Colombo are party guests, with an air of wealth and privilege but no sincerity or empathy. They proffer their lines and their quirks to the audience with gusto and personality. Howells has a baby doll quality perfect for her character Karen – “if you’re not thinking about it, it’s not happening” – while Tipa’s Roger appears to be both imploding and exploding with his own egotism, layered over a vulnerability that is embedded in a self-pity and a lack of self-awareness.

McCarthy plays John who loses everything, including his sham friendships, and while this should make him a character we sympathise with, he takes no responsibility for his loss so he remains unappealing. Martyn plays a smug but desolate poor little rich boy all grown up and Colombo is truly awful as the mother of a child she rolls out to perform party tricks. Her abusiveness increases with time until the child (played by Shannon) is left crawling from the stage, wan and broken with desperation and neediness. 

The glitching TV screens scattered across the stage punctuate the awkwardness and the casual cruelty that trips off their tongues; the hospital gowns draw us into the sense that we are locked into a psychiatric institution for the criminally and irretrievably insane. The layers of cliché are as fruity as the birthday cake and elicit increasingly uncomfortable laughs from the audience until they don’t, rather being acknowledged with prickly coughs and shifting in seats.  

There are a lot of very negative words in this review but somehow I think that is exactly what Randerson is seeking – she says she believes “real theatre should provoke in some way”. The awfulness of the characters she has written provoke simply because we know these people or we can feel some of their darkness in ourselves, however deeply buried.

That said, these words should actually be read as a glowing review. This cast of actors bring these moods to life with zest and confidence, I almost feel inclined to see it again but I’m not sure if I want to delve back into the dark place some parts of our humanity inhabit. I don’t know what that says about me but I’ll ponder it today… 

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