Slippery | Curtain World
Written and directed by the inimitable Esther Dougherty and produced by Curtain World, Slippery starts with a non-binary polyamorous love-square who have just been reduced to a throuple. Set in a single room of The Mansion, a boarded-up abode that’s equal parts fortress and prison, we’re quickly introduced to each of the white-robed characters and their particular idiosyncrasies as the spell-casting, guilt-wielding Silly Goose persuades the prophetic Puke and earnest, yearning-for-change Moon Junes to participate in a grieving ritual in order to heal from the (apparent) breakup. But their collective grief proves to be too powerful, summoning the ghoulish ghost of their literally departed lover Fredenharry who reveals that one of the remaining members of the fourway-orgy-loving polycule cum doomsday cult actually murdered them. The living have until midnight to solve this mystery; otherwise Fredenharry will haunt them forever.
All images: Mou
If any of those combinations of words made you feel overwhelmed, don’t worry. One of the great strengths of Slippery is how immediately and consistently accessible it is without the pace ever dropping to spoon-feed the audience. At no point do we need a detailed explanation of how the world works, we simply and instantly believe that it does. There is a clear internal logic to the fantastical in Slippery, but with just enough of the familiar that it’s both hilariously weird and painfully relatable. Slippery feels like being pulled down a rabbit hole into a fantastical genderless fever-dream where everyone in the Vatican is gay, spoons are idiots, and cucumber vape juice will kill you. It’s unashamedly absurd, unapologetically queer, and hysterically funny.
Because the normal methods of forensic deduction are out the window (courtesy of those magic cicadas Silly Goose convinced everyone to eat, obviously), Silly Goose, Puke, and Moon Junes alternate between blaming each other and blaming themselves in their attempt to work out who is responsible for their ex-lover’s death, while Fredenharry’s ghost is clearly not happy about being a) dead but more importantly b) outside the polyamorous fold. Slippery is just as interested in the fluctuating relationship dynamic between each of the characters as it is with each character’s struggle with self-examination. It’s wonderful to see a show that simultaneously celebrates non-monogamous, non-heteronormative forms of love while also allowing this relationship to be very clearly imperfect, as all human relationships are. This is absolutely not a how-to for queer or polyamorous relationships, and yet at no point are queerness or polyamory ever the punchline of the rapid-fire jokes.
All images: Mou
Every actor deserves a shout out here. Gina Tay Limpus is utterly magnetic as Puke, carefully revealing the subtle cracks in Puke’s sibylline facade with surgical precision, and moving through the space with the grace and intensity of an apex predator where the stage is her prey before wielding stillness like a weapon. Siobhan Gibbs provides a frenetic physical contrast as Moon Junes, commanding attention and inciting giggles even when she’s in the background just picking her nose. Gibbs slides so effortlessly back and forth between chaotic clown and heartfelt dreamer that you may feel whiplash and/or artistic envy. Ben Snaith is particularly memorable as Silly Goose, a character who demonstrates a controlling co-dependency by demanding constant emotional unity from the others. Snaith successfully navigates the frankly Herculean task of humanising the complexities of this character without condoning or caricaturing their persona. Lastly, Grace Keane-Jones is a delight as the visually ghastly Fredenharry, who in some ways is the heart of the story. While the other characters wrestle with maintaining or breaking the status quo, Fredenharry yearns to return to the status quo however is the only one fundamentally unable to. Keane-Jones has a tricky role as the only actor whose actual facial expressions are completely obscured, but she deftly overcomes this limitation to embody such an awkward sweetness and longing that you can’t help but yearn for her fulfilment too.
It would be easy to reduce Slippery to its impressive collection of specific in-world jokes, which you’ll be quoting for weeks afterwards, not because it doesn’t have depth, but because the writing is so tight, so ridiculously, sharply funny, and each actor brings a different but equally impressive flavour of perfectly honed comedic timing that it’s easy to miss the sophistication of this work. It may sound odd to describe an absurdist polyamorous murder mystery as sophisticated, but there is such an elegance to the many elements of Slippery it’s like watching someone perform a magic trick you’ve never seen before and by all logic should be physically impossible. Dougherty has crafted a story that does so much yet never feels overburdened, that is uproariously funny yet never sacrifices character for a joke, and where every absurd tangent leads you back a place grounded in truth.
I simply cannot recommend Slippery highly enough, and I can’t wait to see what Dougherty and the cast all do next.
