Whiplash

In your face, in your head, ripping out your heart. That’s all in the first few minutes of this raw and visceral performance. Scott Wings delivers beautiful poetry of the body, in words and movement.

This is physical theatre of a different kind – a one-man journey inside himself: metaphorical, though sometimes it feels and looks and sounds quite literal.

The scuffle between the ruling elements of the whole – the head, the heart, the sex - trying to keep it all together on a first date, is wonderful and unflinching. Cringingly real, we feel the pain and breathlessness in the cycle between extremes of desperate depression and manic elation.

The conversations between himself at different ages are brilliant: the dialogue is fast and real; the points of focus at 6 years or 16 or 35 are more than just recognisable. There are times I swear he’s in MY head.

There are forgivable moments of self-indulgence: this is therapy – for Scott, certainly, but also for us. His struggles resonate – they’re not just his, they’re ours too. He holds nothing back – his deep thoughts on puppies, love and Chris Pratt are exposed for us to recognise.

It’s angry and hopeful, distressing and funny, sad and real: this is performance particularly for men – not a protest, but a reaction: his exploration will challenge yours.

Mark Wickett

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