Act 1
SCENE 1
Suddenly the sound of suspense-filled horror music plays loudly. BRYONY, dressed in glorious orange sequins and a long blonde wig, launches herself onto the stage. She stumbles in red heels. Breathing deeply she plays a defenceless bimbo victim being chased. She stops centre stage, lights flash as she plays out a Hammer horror version of the show in 30 seconds, she mimes wildly to the musicā¦ she wields an imaginary spade, she lifts weights, she fries a breakfast, she gets pregnant, she holds a baby, she goes mad, she cries and finally she mimes her vagina exploding towards the audience with flames flying then fizzling out on the floor.
Pause.
BRYONY: (Trying not to laugh.) Imagine if I started the show like that! What a prick.
Hi. Iām Bryony Kimmings. Autobiographical performance artist at your service. (She curtseys.) Welcome to my show, āIām a Phoenix, Bitchā. Whatās it about? I hear you cry. Hmmm where to start ā OK, potted? In 2015 my life burnt to the ground babes. I lost my mind, my partner, my house and in some ways my son, Frank. This is a show about that traumatic time and very importantly my subsequent recovery.
Otherwise it could be quite heavy couldnāt it!?
See, I want you to know you are in safe hands tonight. Youāre safe. Iām safe. This is something I do for a living, Iāve done it for a long time, Iām insured, Iām DBS checked. I need you to know I work through my shit first and then I make art about it. So weāre safe.
Now, Iām currently dressed as pre-2015 Bryony right now. Some of you might remember her. Bad wig, ASOS sequins, little shimmy. But for those of you who donāt know me, or my work, I wanted to do a little potted history of who I used to be before all the shit hit the fan. (She calls to the back.) Music please Maestro!
She begins to shimmy and dance, itās funny.
In 2009 I made a show called Sex Idiot, where I tried to retrace my sexual footsteps to find out which one of the buggers Iād shagged had given me a sexually transmitted infection. Itās the one with the now infamous pubic hair moustache and lots of crying.
In 2011 I made a show called 7 Day Drunk in collaboration with a then alcoholic friend. I tried to prove to her that her creativity was in no way linked to her alcohol consumption by spending 7 days drunk with scientists. I failed. I was a much better artist drunk. Itās the one with all the booze and lots of crying.
In 2013 I made Credible Likeable Superstar Role Model in collaboration with my nine-year-old niece. Itās the one about inventing feminist pop stars, difficult family politics and thereās lots of crying in it.
In 2015 I created Fake It āTil you Make It with my then partner Tim. Itās the one about loving someone with depression and thus there is lots of crying in it.
She stops dancing in a deep bow.
Oh dear. I think we all know where tonight could be going.
She stands up and her physicality transforms into MAN.
MAN: Urgh God this is tragic. (Pause.) Kimmings youāre not funny anymore.
BRYONY: Shut up.
MAN: What? itās true.
BRYONY: Oh go away!
MAN: Youāre just coming across a little desperate and self-obsessed.
BRYONY: Am I?
MAN: Yeahā¦
Pause. She shrinks a little, forgets the audience are there.
BRYONY: Shit sorry, OK sometimes you may hear me talk in a manās voice. Heās my leaking critical inner monologue. Do you have one of those? Mine is a straight, white, cis-gendered TV drama exec that likes to bully me and make me feel like a piece of shit.
MAN: Calm down dearā¦
BRYONY: See. Heās also quite reductive with my feelings. Urgh.
She begins to undress revealing practical sportswear. Cycle shorts, sports bra, and functional vest top.
BRYONY: Well this is more like me now. Anxious, middle-aged, celebrity sports wear wearing, single mum broken Bryony. As I like to call her.
I havenāt been onstage for a couple of years properly. It took a bit to coax me back on if I am honest. But it felt important for the healing processā¦ urgh did I just say healing process? (Laughs) ā¦ to try my best to find my way back here. It was such a huge part of who I was before everything happened. Iāve had a fuckload of therapy in recent years and I have brought some of the coping techniques that Iāve learnt there onto the stage with me to keep me safe.
Packs away the old BRYONY costume ceremoniously.
BRYONY: Away you go old Bryonyā¦ (Putting on functional trainers. Smoothing her hair.) Like firstly for example, I knew to wear my everyday comfy clothes onstage. Some of my new-found anxiety is triggered by what I think I look like to other people. Not great if youāre a performance artist for a living. So I chose clothes with function. No more sequins for me.
Secondly, I also brought this little Dictaphone here onstage. I have recorded Frank messages pretty much every day since he got ill. Itās a security blanket I allowed myself to have. He canāt talk to me, so this is a way of communicating with his future self when maybe he will. Iām often away from home. I give him annoying mum tips and tell him funny things about the world. (Excitedly.) Letās do oneā¦
Starts recording.
Hi Frank. Iām onstage at [insert place] itās [insert date]. I feel OK, if a little nervous. The audience seems really nice though. Say Hi to Frank, audience.
A space to say Hi.
Speak to you later. Peace.
Stops recording.
As well as everyday chitchat I do funny chapters for him, to mix it up. We are on survival tips for the future at the moment.
Weāve done āHow to Live on a Plant-Based, Foragerās Dietā. āHow to Steal Things from John Lewis and Not Get Caughtā, and āWhat to Pack in an Atomic Emergencyā. Nothing your skin will burn from your bones.
Whe...