THEATRE REVIEW: The Wasp
15.09.2022 Q Theatre
When I was younger, I was deathly afraid of wasps. They’re like bumble bees, but deadlier, and far less cute. There’s something about their malevolent buzzing, clawing arms and legs and their sharp yellow-and-black bodies, meeting at a venomous point, that crawled beneath my skin in an icey bolt of terror. You can’t blame my hesitation in accepting Rat World’s invitation to review The Wasp, a nail-biting thriller by playwright Morgan Lloyd Malcolm. And I was right – The Wasp flooded my body with that same sensation. I was on the edge of my seat. Goosebumps crept along my arms. But unlike the insect, this play had me panicking for all the right reasons.
The narrative outline of The Wasp appears deceivingly simple. Heather, an uptight know-it-all who achieved everything she’s ever hoped for, arranges a meeting with Carla, a struggling old classmate with a lazy husband, four children and one on the way. But the opening scene allows a thicker plot to unfurl: Heather wants something from Carla, and Carla needs something from Heather. A proposition is made. There will be deadly consequences.
Photo by Andi Crown
I’m being vague about The Wasp for a reason. Usually, I don’t mind giving a few things away – like the sound (scary) and the performances (incredible) – but the plot deserves to unleash itself on its own. It’s like a malignant tumour that stretches and divides into lethality. Starring Bree Peters as Heather and Miriama McDowell as Carla, the two actresses play off each other organically, imitating a real-life dynamic with complete conviction. There was no performative quality to the two leads; I had to keep reminding myself that I was watching a show, and not eavesdropping on an incredibly private conversation.
The play is organised into only three separate scenes, and relies heavily on the prowess of the actresses to lasso the audience into Heather and Carla’s growing plan. Peters and McDowell are utterly fantastic. Experienced actresses in their own right, their talent splashed across the stage with every off-handed quip and stabbing remark. Humanly flawed. Unbeatable chemistry. Clever subtleties that foreshadow future events, without being too on-the-nose. The characters were multiplicital and complex, and I adored how real they felt. I was impressed by the way Carla and Heather’s convoluted history is explained only through dialogue, not relying on flashbacks, re-enactments or any other narrative device to reveal their pasts to the audience. The concise, sharp dialogue painted a vivid story, providing an interesting moral ledge for the audience to perch on. Who is in the wrong? Is Heather insane, or legitimate in her plan? Are Carla’s actions forgivable? I can guarantee no two viewers walked away with identical opinions. This is where the magic happens: in the grey space between right and wrong, that blurry line dividing justice and revenge. The Wasp is as much a twisted femme-fatale as it is a puzzle with no right answer.
“The concise, sharp dialogue painted a vivid story, providing an interesting moral ledge for the audience to perch on. Who is in the wrong? Is Heather insane, or legitimate in her plan? Are Carla’s actions forgivable? I can guarantee no two viewers walked away with identical opinions.”
One thing I must sing praise to is the play’s stage design. Lights were used to create the illusion of different spaces, allowing the foreground and the background to become completely different “sets”. The lighting also flickered occasionally, accompanied by a foreboding violin-synth sound effect, to elevate the tension. I thought this was impressively creative and sucked me into the story even more. Without a moving set or black-clad stage hands running on to swap things out, there was room for the plot to fester in a raw, undistracted fashion, giving Peters and McDowell the sole responsibility of creating a convincing world with two temporal threads of past and present. At one point a buzzing sound brushed past my ear and I froze, shoulders tensed, before realising there wasn’t a wasp taunting the audience – only a cleverly placed sound effect, humming just below the conversation on stage. I fought the urge to reach out and swat the imaginary insect for the entirety of the opening scene. This transformed the performance into a visceral experience, digging deep beneath the skin to envelop the viewers into this strange and treacherous plan. At some points I felt the music was slightly mis-cued, stuttering just behind the action on-stage. With the implementation of experimental elements there’s always the chance that something isn’t going to work as convincingly as hoped, and the audio had a lot to live up to given the remarkable performances. The delay never took me out of the moment, however – the sound still served as a character of its own, translating the strained on-stage atmosphere into another gripping sensory component.
Photo by Andi Crown
“By the end, a breath loosened in my chest. My pulse thrummed. I glanced at Jenn, Rat World’s editor, who had come along for the ride. Her face was as pale as mine felt. There was only one thing I could think to say. ‘That,’ I said, ‘Was so good.’”
Here’s the thing: when you’re stung by a wasp, the natural response is to avoid them for the rest of your life. But The Wasp left me in agony for more. Swirling into a twisty, gnarly tale of vengeance, I was gripping my hands together for the entire show. By the end, a breath loosened in my chest. My pulse thrummed. I glanced at Jenn, Rat World’s editor, who had come along for the ride. Her face was as pale as mine felt. There was only one thing I could think to say. “That,” I said, “Was so good.” Suddenly I wasn’t afraid of wasps. After seeing what had been resolved on-stage, I knew. There’s so much more to be afraid of.
Photo by Andi Crown
Director: Sam Snedden
Producer: Alice Kirker
Cast: Bree Peters and Miriama McDowell
Written by: Morgan Lloyd Malcolm
Design: Jane Hakaraia, Meg Rollandi and Emi Pogoni