Christopher Walker reviews Lucy & Friends at the Soho Theatre

By Christopher Walker

“Nothing can shock me anymore.”

So did the pompous theatre critic tempt Fate.

I had not anticipated Lucy McCormick taking the stage. The kind of manic, anarchic, wild child who always seems to sit next to me on a late-night tube.

Her hair’s a mess, and her clothes wine-stained, as she swigs from one overfilled red wine glass after another. The tube similarities are very strong.

Lucy has been well received at the Edinburgh fringe, something which I will in future take as a warning. And she certainly has a posse of fans.

We are told: “In a despairing world, Lucy attempts to create community and connection the only way she knows how – through a smattering of sing-a-longs and a celebration of silliness.”

Moreover, “a master of theatrical manipulation and crushing personal vulnerability” Lucy apparently “leaves her audiences needing a hug, a cry and an immediate shower.”

That last bit is certainly true, especially for those unfortunate enough to sit in the front row. You have been warned.

Some aspects of her act are quite brilliant. Such as when she prances on stage in provocative clothing to confront a sex club pole.

Rather than dance round it, she dons protective goggles, takes out a buzz saw and cuts it down at the base, to howls of approval from her adoring gay girl fans. Sparks fly everywhere. I told you not to sit in the front row.

She clearly has some talent and quite a good singing voice. But when she moves on to masturbating live on stage, and urinating in an Evian bottle (front rowers – a quick proximity warning – she misses a lot) this unshockable theatre critic had had enough.

Thankfully I was sitting in the back row.

Pictured top: Lucy & Friends (Picture: Jonny Ruff)

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