Destiny is getting ready for her “best night evahhh” at Karma nightclub in Chippenham—to the sound of Destiny’s Child, obvs!
Except she’s no youngster. She’s all of 15, with a head full of glamorous dreams, about to be flushed away by the nightmare reality ahead of her.
Writer and performer Florence Espeut-Nickless starts this monologue in the style of one of those adolescent mobile phone conversations we all get to share in any public space. It’s delivered in a nerveless monotone, with barely a pause for breath. And what it goes on to depict is more likely the lived experience of too many thousands of other young women on a Saturday night out.
Destiny has been sexualised, at too young an age, before entering on an inevitable life cycle of neglect, abuse, assault, rape, violence, grooming, exploitation—and repeat. It’s a seriously discomforting 60 minutes of theatre, delivered in the tuneless sing-song accent of its West Country setting, and Espeut-Nickless’s roots. Not too far removed from TV’s This Country, but occupying very different and darker territory.
Like so many other such solo plays addressing society’s ills, it should be an integral part of theatre-in-education, directly addressing the audience it depicts and concerns. The play text is published, ready and waiting.
This production has been extensively developed by a host of theatre companies and individuals, not least among them master theatre maker Tim Crouch, and it shows.
Jenny Roxburgh’s lighting and Joseff Harris’s sound design are minimalist but integral elements to Espeut-Nickless’s frantic performance. Just occasionally, you might hope for a pause to her delivery, if only to grant time to process the flashing images of her character’s life.
Inevitably, Destiny is swallowed up by the care system, and left with nothing more than the new friendships she makes with fellow freewheeling namesakes, Faith and Hope.
The play is near the end of a national tour but should be at the heart of a national conversation.