The subject matter revolves around the so-called problem of being feminine, of not wanting to rock the boat.
The company of five arrive by boat, standing at the masthead in classical pose.
Marooned, one gestures despair, one cradles her arms, another looks downcast.
They are all trying to reconcile themselves to the vicissitudes life has thrown at them.
Tollemache traces through the many facets of abuse.
Her dishevelled journey is paved with broken egg shells. She is alone.
The solution lies in getting lippy with conviction.
Gritty humour bubbles to the surface, leavening the way between hard home truths and mixed messaging.
The story line equitably embraces attacks on a broken healthcare system, societal expectations, systemically entrenched misogyny as well as schoolgirl bullies, an adolescent need to feel accepted.
Substance-fuelled denial is aided by emotional glad-wrap.
The audience is repeatedly asked ‘‘who are you?’’.
We know we will never be good enough against a backdrop where we are cemented into dependency by unequal pay.
As such, Neurospice Girls is confronting rather than shocking.
Tollemache’s delivery is sharp and fast. The stage set is minimal.
Her Greek chorus both reinforces and contradicts her passage, alternately placing impediments in her way and commiserating.
Each emerges with their own story and identity vehemently confirmed.
One problem for the production may be that abuse seems all too commonplace, pain inherited generationally is not so readily overcome.
However, Neurospice Girls succeeds because all actors have skin in the game.
All the backroom assistants deserve high credit, as do Jo Randerson and Playmarket.
