There are Fringe shows you watch. There are shows you enjoy. There are shows that make you question yourself on the walk home. Safety belongs firmly in the third category. Performed in a space so intimate that, from my front row seat, my feet were actually on the stage, Michael Reid’s darkly humorous and deeply unsettling play put me uncomfortably close to a story about psychotherapy, power, obsession, professionalism and, ultimately, humanity. Well, a human trait, anyway.
“Uncomfortable” is meant entirely as a compliment. As the play unfolded, I found myself questioning the characters and their motivations, all portrayed with swift alacrity by Reid. Their juxtapositioning made me question aspects of my own personality, and is that not the essence of a skilled playwright and performer? I didn’t feel empathy – I felt a mirror being held up to my face and, given the performance was in my face, that could have been a physical manifestation as well. The question asked is how much of what we tell ourselves is truth? How much is self-protection? How readily do we construct stories that allow us to feel safe? Most unsettlingly, how much of all these characters can I recognise in myself?
Reid’s performance is central to that experience. His technique and delivery are so subtle that the fourth wall doesn’t so much get broken as quietly disappear. He engages directly with the audience, drawing us into the story without ever allowing us to become merely comfortable observers.
The play is packed with anecdotes, but never feels reliant on them. Each becomes a fragment in a much larger exploration of truth, professionalism and the messy business of being human. The production’s technical elements work on our perception, too. Subtle changes in lighting and acoustics alter the mood, creating the impression of a different scene, a different ambience – and, importantly, a different way of seeing what we have just witnessed.
There are moments of silence from the audience. This is not disinterest. It is reflection. Safety gives you plenty to think about.
There is a startling denouement. The story does not end there. What follows is, in its own way, even more startling, leaving me reconsidering everything that had gone before. Just as you fall for Reid’s protagonist, you are yanked back into a stark judgment of the previous sixty minutes. Not a bad debut for the fledgling production company, Light Mends Carefully, and the deft hand of producer Carol Tambor.
I found Safety uncomfortable, challenging and utterly compelling. The discomfort is not unpleasant; it is productive. The play asks difficult questions without insisting on easy answers. I highly recommend it. Go and sit very close to the stage. You may find you end up sitting rather closer to yourself than you expected.
