Actor James Wenley greets a smiling group of audience members in the foyer of a Wellington apartment building and ushers us upstairs to his home. We’re welcomed with tea and cookies and a row of seats and couches in his living room.

I immediately like being here. People’s homes are like a breathing organism and it’s like stepping into a little part of their most vulnerable self. It’s a unique experience to be conversing with the actor before the show, in his home. We feel like an audience yet like new friends yet like strangers.

Like any good host, James opens the show with a tour of the home, including opening his pantry to us (I think people’s pantries could be a site-specific show in itself). He then starts the show “proper” with the accompaniment of a 1980s omnichord, giving an audio layer of retro joy. His TV and a simple slide show punctuate the show, as do simple yet beautiful coloured lights that flicker over the white walls.

James takes us through not only his personal journey of being alone, or lonely, or in solitude, but also talks about stats and wider stories around loneliness. He talks about the mythology of the loneliness of whales. He talks about the experience of his mother after his father died. James gently weaves the show through different times in his life, from relationships to solo living to friendships to experiences of feeling like friends are just hard to come by.

There is classic storytelling (which I always love!) such as the day his Dad died and the time he and his best friend realised they were best friends. There is TedTalk-style sharing of insights, bringing the topic wider and allowing us all to find ourselves within the context.

The topic of loneliness is a hard one for people to talk about, and James is incredibly open and unwaveringly honest as he shares his own perspective. Why is loneliness such a hard topic? Do we think it means failure? Do we think it means a sign that we aren’t an attractive option for people to want to be around? Are our communities just so fractured that we can’t get proper connection? James ponders the difference between loneliness and solitude, a marked distinction, and how his experience of being ace and aro affects his experience of life and loneliness. This is another line of thought so much worth discussing more widely: why do we think romantic love/relationships are the cornerstone of connection and fulfillment?

I like how James gently invites the audience to give their own experiences and perspectives, and this audience is forthcoming and respectful, offering but not overtaking.

I think James has created a real gem here, not only as an enjoyable theatre experience but as a way to open the conversation about loneliness and connection. I’d love to attend more shows like this, in cosy, hushed home environments where people share their experiences of certain parts of life.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

The venue for this show is not a theatre or a basement bar or any of the usual or even unusual niche performance spaces typical of the Fringe Festival. It’s the home of James Wenley. He’s at the door to greet me and several other guests, and we follow him up several flights of stairs to his apartment.  

Wenley is a theatre academic, practitioner and critic and makes theatre under his company Theatre of Love. And we’re here to see his solo theatre piece: A Show for when you feel Lonely. Ensconced in armchairs and a sofa, we are now welcomed by our host and introduced to his personal space. 

A bookshelf displaying titles such as How to Know a Person and The Lonely Century are early clues to what we may hear. We even catch a glimpse of his bathroom, which features a washing machine that when turned on plays the national anthem in Te Reo Maori.  

Wenley’s opening statement, “My reality shared with you is theatricality,” perfectly sums up what follows. “This is where I live – by myself” he tells us.

[Potential spoiler alert: if you’re going, you may prefer to engage with what follows ‘in the moment’ – ED]

One in ten New Zealanders live by themselves apparently – either by choice or by circumstance. Some may do it out of bitterness, some out of a genuine desire to live alone. We are asked: Do any of us live alone? Are we lonely?

I find myself wondering if I – who do live alone and love it – am disguising the real state of things by living a chockful existence?!

Wenley relates his various experiences of living with his parents, flatting, living with a partner, and now living alone in Wellington for the past six years. He talks about the usefulness of a shared reality such as the theatrical community he is part of. The more connected we are, the happier – and healthier – we are. There’s no government support for the lonely; Japan and the UK have Ministers of Loneliness – why don’t we? As audience, we listen intently, at home with Wenley’s admitted vulnerability and perhaps discovering our own corners of loneliness.

Wenley accompanies himself on an omnichord, a small lap held instrument he uses to enhance his talk. There are also visual images flashed onto his television screen, one of which is of the lonely whale, Whale 52, whose plaintive song can be heard an unbelievable way off.

Conclusion comes with three pointers from his bereaved mother on overcoming loneliness and creating connections: ask for help, ask more questions, and show gratitude. They sound like solid advice for all of us.

It’s difficult to know what the audience leaves with. A book for individual comments is provided and about half the necessarily small audience write in it.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer