As flashy new musicals flaunt garish pyrotechnics and desperate nods to the twenty-first century (I’m looking at you, Dear Evan Hansen), the humble one-man show feels more and more limited, both in ability and in lifespan. Glue is an attempt to wrestle with that notion. It carves an intricate and creative journey through the writer’s convoluted past, but sadly manifests as an uphill climb, one that left me utterly exhausted.

Glue is the autobiographical monologue of Louise Wallwein, a flourishing new poet who, abandoned at a young age, grew up in the care of nuns. Endlessly bundled up and passed around, her childhood was spent in 13 different children’s homes, leading to the downtrodden admission that “When you grow up in care, you get used to travelling light”. Unsurprisingly, though, a persistent longing creeps into her life. In spite of an escape from the churn of the social system, and her ensuing transformation into a touring performer, with friends, success and a girlfriend by her side, her focus remains on the empty seat at her gigs. In search of a solution, and of her entire identity, she resolves to finally track down her birth mother.

It feels like we’ve heard this story before. Although Wallwein triumphs in building vivid imagery out of words alone, placing the audience directly into each and every scene, the ending could have been predicted from a mile away. Of course, this is Wallwein’s own personal past, so it’s a harsh critique to make. However, since the one-man show is inherently unable to showcase frilly tricks with the help of a bouncing cast, it relies heavily on a strong and varied story to carry it through. In this sense, Glue has fallen heavily into its own trap.

Things are not helped by the sporadic and choppy use of lighting, which at times seems oblivious to what is happening on stage. For one, and though this may vary from venue to venue, the audience is rarely submerged in darkness; instead, bright lights flood the entire seating area for most of the show. Not only does this reduce the production to a school assembly-type performance, it further lessens the impact of the lighting being used on stage. A lights-off approach would have vastly improved the viewing experience in this regard, but would have also complemented the varying atmospheres being created by the lone guitar (played by Jaydev Mistry). Overall, it seems a real trick was missed here.

Nevertheless, it would take a lot to overshadow Wallwein’s ability to perform and compose. A stage can seem the size of an aeroplane hangar without a cast, and it takes a wild amount of confidence and charisma to fill it. Wallwein oozes both. Though a little too abstract at times, the poet’s semantic choices powerfully depict the life of a child stranded helplessly in the care system. She whisks up a cocktail of clever prose and accessible narrative, all while manipulating language to create just the right amount of tension, emotion and happiness.

The problem with one-man (or one-woman) shows is that they can feel like you’re stuck by the water cooler with an overly chatty colleague. Indeed, the niche, almost academic nature of this format will not be enjoyed by everyone. On the other hand, seasoned fans will appreciate Wallwein’s charismatic and honest style. After all, there are worse people to be stuck by the water cooler with.

Glue played at the Ovalhouse until October 7 2017

Photo: Benji Reid