I don’t get with doomsaying but, having recently read Annie Jacobsen’s chillingly plausible book Nuclear War: A Scenario, piled onto the deeply disturbing geopolitics of recent weeks, I begin to wonder if these are, indeed, apocalyptic times.

So, when the Little Stars Youth Theatre’s production of Macbeth is derailed by incomng asteroids and we have just 43 minutes to oblivion, I sit up and take notice. 

Deserted by her cast, abandoned by her lover, the show’s director stares into the void and decides … the show must go on.  Except, except … it’s hard to focus on Macbeth when your life – both the lived and unlived bits – is flashing past your eyes.

The Young & Wise Theatre Company from USA rolls onto the Nelson Fringe stage with an armload of awards from festivals around the world, and deftly tilts our reality in an hour of breathless energy, humour, pathos, rage, despair and every other element conjured from a witches’ brew that Shakespeare would have proudly signed his name to.  Jill Young’s solo performance amazes at every turn: flawless timing, crisp delivery, crafty interplay with the audience – this is fine work.

What captures me is Young’s courage to lay bare the unguarded self, the burden of fears and phobias, the small vanities, the irrational hopes, the whole blasted hoop-la of being human, that threatens to drag each of us over the brink at every moment.  Mostly we cling on, keeping ourselves more or less under wraps, at least enough to function, but when you’ve got just 43 minutes until biffo, what then? 

The Kids Might Die boldly uses the raw imperative of doom, the ticking clock, to shine a light on us and our times.  Young’s character, the hapless director of a children’s Macbeth (for heaven’s sake), is exactly of now: anxious, exposed, harried by constant interruptions from her cellphone and the voices in her head, beset by a vastness of ‘shoulds’, ‘coulds’ and ‘woulds’, sagging dangerously, yet she hangs on, right to the final countdown. 

And how does the world end for her? With a bang? A whimper? Well, that would be telling…

It’s risky to borrow your show’s sub-title from Shakespeare, it invites judgment in the form of adjacent texts: The Kids Might Die (full of sound and fury, signifying nothing); or, The Kids Might Die (a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage). 

But, nah, these are as far from the truth as ‘a tale told by an idiot’. Young is no idiot, no poor player, and The Kids Might Die signifies a theatre company with much to say, and a power to entertain.  

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

When I arrive at Te Auaha to review a show called The Kids Might Die (a tale told by an idiot), it’s a surprise to be handed a programme for Macbeth, presented by Little Stars Youth Theatre – not least because it starts at 9.30pm! But haven’t they flown in from L.A.? Maybe they’re still on Pacific Standard Time.

A ‘Who’s Who in the Cast of Macbeth’ page lists 12 children, aged 8 to 13, detailing their roles, previous experience and current state of excitement at being in this show. The ‘Who’s Who in the Crew of The Kids Might Die’ page tells us about playwright/Actor/Producer Jill Young, director/producer Caliope Weisman and the design team(details here).

To describe what happens would be a massive spoiler except the publicity reveals “when an emergency broadcast announces the incoming end of the world, the young cast evacuates, leaving only their director behind.” It’s also pitched as: “Disaster lesbian tries to keep a youth performance of the Scottish Play on track as the world literally ends. A ‘hilarious and poignant’ solo show touching on queerness, OCD, and Shakespeare.”

The simple set features a castle wall hanging and a very dead-looking tree (designer Kye Aragon). As we await ‘houselights down’, a latecomer arrives deeply embedded in a phone conversation that suggests a relationship breakup. But here we are and the show must go on. Having terminated the call, a suddenly bright Jill Young introduces herself as director of LSYT’s Macbeth and counsels us all to “hang up and hang out”.

Having happily suspended our disbelief that an eager team of young thespians are waiting backstage, it’s disappointing that all but one – 8 year-old Devon Oldman – are evacuated before we meet them. Yes, the impending arrival of two lethal asteroids should be our main concern – but hey, the show must go on. And Jill has a very good memory …

She frantically conjures up the weird sisters – and later, Hecat, queen of witches – till another phone call fixates her on her ex, name of Honey, which flips her into enacting her fantasy of arriving home à la a wacky TV sitcom. What starts as silly becomes insightfully significant. Pathos offsets the comedy. Also, Jill’s voice-over conscience is OCD, which is painfully funny for us

Did I mention Young’s training includes sketch, improv and clown at The Idiot Workshop? There is method in this madness. And where does “a tale told by an idiot” come from? Macbeth’s “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow” speech, of course (Act V, Scene V), which ends:
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.

I’d love to think Will Shakespeare would thoroughly approve of this wannabe King’s existential angst being appropriated by a clown – especially one as accomplished as Jill Young. (If only today’s narcissistic wannabe King had the same self-awareness.)

As writer and actor, Young struts and frets her hour upon this stage with a skill that belies the apparent chaos of her clown’s soon-to-be terminated life. In need of a cast, she encourages audience participation and sends up ‘the Director’ in the process: “Amazing work …” is undercut in ways that reveal the director’s shortcomings.  

Comedy thrives on jeopardy so imminent immolation by asteroid fits that bill beautifully. Regular time checks with the Tech (actually director, Caliope Weisman – Niamh Campbell-Ward is the operator for Millie Reed’s excellent lighting design) keep reminding us how nigh the end is. Does it matter then, that young Devon, entrusted to Jill’s care, goes missing? Yet she goes off to find him …

Young’s incarnation as Devon brings us a whole new clown persona. Happily gliding on his Heelys, and wielding a sword that’s “fake for safety reasons”, he’s aware of his mortality and interested in comparing ‘heaven’ with reincarnation. Plus he’s on a spectrum that means that, despite being cast as the Messenger with just one line, he has memorised the whole play. The prospect of his not maturing, let alone Jill not fulfilling the promises she feels life owes her, may well give us pause, too.

Being a comedy, I trust it’s not a spoiler to reveal The Kids Might Die is not prophetic: they don’t. Nor does she; nor do we. I leave delighted that such talent serves as a salve in this era of idiocy.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer