Review: INSTRUCTIONS FOR A TEENAGE ARMAGEDDON, Southwark Playhouse

This review contains spoilers.

"Thirteen is young for an existential crisis". Eileen has barely entered her teens when her older sister, Olive, dies of anorexia. It was sudden, during their family Sunday roast and Eileen had made the Yorkshire puddings, so it must be her fault, somehow. Outlander star Rosie Day writes an intense rollercoaster of a play built on pitch-black humour and abrasive prose. The story of Eileen and her broken relations leads to an intelligent reflection on grief and mental health in a society where girls die trying to make themselves look smaller.

The trigger warnings - eating disorders, death, sexual assault - set the scene for what will be an affecting emotional journey in the psyche of a young girl who isn't given the appropriate tools to handle the sudden loss of her sibling. While her schoolmates desert her in the aftermath, her parents' marriage slowly crumbles under the pressure of their new life. They don't even sit down at the table together anymore so they don't have to set the table for three, and she struggles with the expectations of being the only child with a dead sister.

As she puts on her impenetrable mask of cold rebuttals, self-effacing jokes, and an imperturbable air, we're made privy to her inability to mourn. Her deep insecurities and a mind that hasn't had the chance to develop fully yet don't help, so out of loneliness and in an attempt to escape her newfound role as an outcast, she befriends Noelle and her group of edgy, older friends. What hides behind a toxic friendship really is pure self-destruction. She is stuck in a vicious circle of endless pain while her parents seemingly move on to find happiness.

But they're not fine. Clive - her mother's boyfriend - learns of Olive's existence only when he meets Eileen and her father doesn't let much on with Sarah either. Enter Lottie, Sarah's 10-year-old daughter and Eileen's stepsister, who now coexists with Olive's memory. Eileen hates her bubbly, normal, untainted life. So, she copes the only way she knows how.

She lies to her parents and meets a boy who turns out to be a fully grown man. Horrible things happen and Eileen doesn't have the capacity to deal - or heal. Then, a kind and perceptive nurse finally allows her to find closure - although in Eileen's eyes, it looks more like redemption. It's a tough play to watch, but it's needed.

Zillennials do things differently, and the company isn't afraid to dare. Georgie Staight directs Instructions for a Teenage Armageddon after working with Day on the dramaturgy for two full years after their debut at the Old Red Lion in early 2020. The core remains, but the show feels fresher and more enthralling than its previous version. Holly Ellis curates the lighting design and creates a visual representation for Eileen's swift thoughts against Cara Evans's set.

The corner stage features a giant sandbox filled with wood chips. It encloses her stream of consciousness and acts as a playground of sorts once the scout group becomes Eileen's safe space - and her last anchor to childhood. Her mission to earn all her badges violently grates against the overly mature experiences she's forced to face. It's a jarring juxtaposition.

A cracking soundtrack runs through the production, carrying Eileen through her adolescence. It's a quick, lively, and extraordinarily affecting solo performance that not only highlights the precarious balance of young people's mental health, but stresses once more the failures of the NHS (she is told the waiting list to see a therapist would be of at least six months) and of society itself. Eileen's grief is mishandled by her parents in the very first instance.

They obviously struggle enormously themselves, but don't seem to offer any help to their child or understand her perspective, so she shuts down and disengages entirely. Day is terrific in her tour de force and Instructions for a Teenage Armageddon might as well become a seminal play for her, both as a writer and performer.

Instructions for a Teenage Armageddon runs at Southwark Playhouse until 5 March.

Photo credit: Mark Senior

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