Sheryl with an “S” is seaweed, which starts with a “sea”. Sometimes she feels like the stuff that can strangle boat propellers and sometimes she can rid the earth of carbon dioxide.
Even in her
Slay Everyday Era – even her t-shirt says “SEE” – there are moments in
her day when she wants to rip all her skin off and beat her head against the
wall.
She’s an
actor and a voice over artist and a teacher and sometimes she has to make up an
excuse for one boss to be able to make another one happy. She’s rushing from
place to place, missing buses over and over but somehow willing herself to keep
smiling. Those kids aren’t going to teach themselves. She has to stay positive
in all things or otherwise she’ll be a failure. She already fails to live up to
her mother’s expectations and she can’t help comparing herself to siblings and
cousins.
But it’s
not just the freelance life and gig economy that’s getting Sheryl down. She has
anxiety and she’s decided to start therapy. But she’s not even sure if she’s
doing that for the right reasons. She’s worried about disappointing her therapist and
thinks all she really needs to do is beat the system and level up as a human.
I Am
Seaweed is
thoughtfully chaotic. We get to see into Sheryl’s mind because writer and
performer Cheryl Ho can vacillate wildly between chirpy and frantic, between
smiling and scared. Her energy drags us along through her daily life, illuminated
by text messages and an internal monologue that sometimes turns into motivational
images projected on the back wall. We’re smiling along with her until we realise
she’s breaking down inside and the emotion hits with a wallop.
Comedy
always makes drama easier to swallow, but Cheryl Ho wisely doesn’t allow the humour
to devalue the strain of Sheryl’s situation. It’s a one-woman show filled with
clever monologues, sarcastic observations and that recurring imagery of seaweed
– which is essential to life on earth but always looks so messy and discarded.
Designers
Vick Low and Rachel Lee illuminate the largely empty Theatre Works space
without the show ever feeling lost in all that inky blackness. Two white
tables, dressed with colourful beach detritus and one chair is all Cheryl has
to work with – while chasing an erratic spotlight which really helped to dial up
the tension and anxiety.
I Am
Seaweed is a smart
show and Cheryl/Sheryl gets the audience on side from minute one and doesn’t
let go for an hour. It’s a thrill but with a lot to say about mental health and
personal reflection and why people with the biggest grins might hide the
biggest sadness.
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