There is a type of storytelling to which we often subject children – the cod interactive one, where the narrator of a story asks the attentive audience what they think happened next, or what they think a character may have been thinking. Whatever the answer, the story them progresses as intended.
A similar technique is employed by Lucy Farrett in this one-woman show. Farrett, looking for all the world like a delicate Victorian china doll, speaks as if a dotty old woman who frequently loses her place in her storytelling. Her digressions involve some gentle sparring with the audience, sitting at her feet across scattered sofa cushions. Too often, though, her predilection for giggling at “naughty” words puts one inn mind not of an old woman, but a precocious little toddler.
When the story itself unfolds near the end of the hour, Farrett demonstrates that she is a masterful storyteller who doesn’t need ricks or gimmicks to hold audience enrapt. But there is a little too little of genuine storytelling here to feel really satisfying.