In New York if your Storage Unit payments bounce, the lock is snipped and your stuff is sold.  And they don’t even bother to tell you.  This I didn’t know, and neither, it seems, did Megan Riordan.  She lost it all, and with it, she lost part of herself that she is determined to retrieve.

Amidst a somewhat chaotic set adorned with wire boughs of  paper leaves on which illegible things are scrawled, and collages of photos and handwritten signs like “Bury”, “Relive” and Ignore”, indicating some sort of attempt at categorisation, Riordan gets round to shedding light on things for us with her eloquent performance.

With the aid of a large video projection, she retraces her steps and visits buildings that no longer exist.  She seeks out old friends, takes photos of their photos and asks them what objects they associate with their memory of her.  Disappointment prevails when the answers include things like grey fuzzy moving pants (tracksuit bottoms to the Irish).

This play is as much about memory (what it is, how it works and why it changes and fades) as it is about Megan’s quest to fill in the gaps in her own.  Making Strange pull out all the stops for storytelling in this informative piece; we are lectured on neurobiology from a lectern, and (less informatively) serenaded on an excessive three occasions with Riordan’s songs from behind her guitar.  Without these superfluous songs, this play poses important questions about how dependent our memories are on our possessions, and how changeable they may be without them.  . 

Star rating: ★★★