53Two
Manchester
Sept 23-26, 2026
I completely love theatre that presents a cinematographic experience with the most minimalistic of props. This is suspension of disbelief at its highest pitch, & those who bestow their gifts in the field should be treated as higher sentient beings.
So, to Cryin’ Air, from the pen of Lauren Bugg, & performed by the smooth-chemistried Milly Overland & Ella-Maria Danson. Yeah, quite a couple, these two, & their symbiosis was so penetrating to watch that the play would always dip whenever there was only one of them on stage, however entertaining the scriptwork.
Saying that, it’s only in the second half of the play that the cinematography, so to speak, comes fully into its own — a trip to Amsterdam in which our two protagonists play out a modern buddy film: light on real drama, but very funny & very real. That is one of the main qualities of Bugg’s writing: she is so attentive to the little details in life, & to seeing them stitched into the grander fabric of personal & interpersonal development.
Why on earth would I help myself when I hate myself?
Yin & Yang, beans & toast, Thelma & Louise; the actresses each bring something different to the table. Milly Overland trained at Rose Bruford College, graduating with First-Class Honours in 2024 after studying theatre-making, directing, devising, ensemble work, movement & solo practice. Ella-Maria Danson, meanwhile, took the more formally musical-theatre route, studying at Pendleton College before training on the BA (Hons) Musical Theatre course at Mountview Academy of Theatre Arts. I was especially impress’d by their sporadic & comical gender swaps — some quality acting skills there, like!
Milly plays Grace, an anxiety-plagued, inferiority-complex’d young lady in love with an idiot, for whom Amsterdam becomes a route towards something resembling personal growth — #flyingsolo. Ella-Maria plays Kerry, off to the ‘Dam to scatter her dad’s ashes. It’s funny: there are so many Amsterdams, I suppose, depending on who you are, where you’re coming from & certainly what time of day it is. For Northern boys — not the girls, as the play rather emphatically instructed me — it’s about, well, getting really fucking smashed.
I wrote a poem about my own Amsterdam experience when I was 21:
AMSTERDAMINNIT
We trawl the long-haul of the motorway
& pick up more pot-heads past Birmingham,
Jelly wobbles on the waves to Calais,
Mojo pukes in the lowlands near the ‘Dam.
We rush to relax in the smoky cafes;
Try Purple Haze & buy Sensemelia,
Each Stella & space-cake skanks up the daze
Of a mushroom-gilded psychedelia.
Skunk’d-up, smasha-fuck, zombie bus, bongtubes,
Grass stash’d up Nicky’s ass, Richie’s itchy pubes…
But enough of me & my juvenile jaunts. Back to Cryin’ Air, which I thoroughly enjoyed — eventually! The first half was a little, well, slow. I guess we were getting to know the characters & understand their idiosyncrasies while exposing internal narratives, getting to know the backstories, etc., but does it really need to take 50 minutes? Once they were sat on a plane, declaring, ice-breakingly, “I’m so relieved you are not creepy,” it just got really good. I guess it’s 2026: we expect more meat on our characters, but proper storytelling shouldn’t need that. A wee hint of an important personal trait should be enough.
The thing is, however, Bugg’s quirk-fill’d writing is excellent, so you don’t really mind. But there is a fine line between oral recitation & theatre, which the first half of Cryin’ Air treads rather trundlingly. The second half, like I said, is a different ball game. A little deus-ex-machina-shoulda-woulda-coulda in places, but brilliant all the same, & it would have done well as a piece of theatre in its own right, without the rambling prologue.
So, to that fine writing, whose observational qualities & seamless appearances throughout the script’s poetical awen flashed like fireworks across the dark skies of serious theatre’s dreary modernism.
We wanted to go as a full stew
But Shaun the Swede’s train was cancelled
We have annoying sisters whose young sons get bought yoghurt with fruit at the bottom, but they never eat the fruit, so why doesn’t she just buy normal yoghurt instead? We have poo bags you can still see the poo in, Uber drivers being used as therapists, “mosquito men” buzzing about women, & immortal lines such as, “Next thing you know, the bras are off & there’s eight Yorkshire puddings in the oven.”
I also liked the description of Grace falling for Ian: every time his hand moved, she thought he’d put it on her knee; the way she loved the way he was passionate about a normally boring subject; & the way the memory of their first meeting was something she’d love to bottle up & take a swig of. Beautiful Brechtian writing, beautifully performed.
On the dramaturgical plane where Loose Women & Fear and Loathing collide, ultimately Cryin’ Air is a play which you plug into, enjoy the ride, & marvel at the random assemblage of life’s little details. There are some really realistic touches in there, such as when you’re on a boat in Amsterdam getting a guided tour of its buildings — totally in that boat, like, I was totally in that boat.
Then, at the moment we were getting off the boat, the tannoy blares out: “Please don’t leave your belongings or blossoming friendships behind…”
Cool as!
Words: Damo
Photos: Kelsea Knox