Directed by Grace Morgan

Dramaturgy/Original Material from William Dunleavy

Review by Dominic Corr

Buccleach Terrace: Tickets

It all feels like a touch of cloak and dagger. Beginning like a PSA in teaching kids to avoid strangers, the site-specific You’re Needy (Sounds Frustrating) leaves a single audience member alone on the pavements below the performance, located at Tills Bookshop (don’t be tempted to wait inside and browse). In the distance, a single figure walks towards us—slowly but with purpose—and there’s an immediate connection that this is the starting moment of tasteinyourmouth’s highly experimental show.

Identifying themselves as Carrie’s sister, the pleasantries are exchanged, and the instructions of the show are carried out as we climb the familiar winding stairs of an Old Town Edinburgh flat block. As we enter the flat, audiences are informed that they are part of this and integral in reintegrating Carrie into society. And it all happens in the bathroom. The atmosphere is choking, humid, and hot, though surprisingly, the scents are pleasant and not overpowering for such a small room. In the bath, tightly wrapped in leaves, petals, and cling film, lays Carrie – waist-deep in water, a concoction of self-wellness potions and lotions around us. And though it may potentially be disarming to be in this close proximity to an artist – this is one of the more relaxed, intimate, and engaging experiences audiences can have at the Fringe.

With two Gwenyth Paltrow shows kicking around at the Festival, it begins to feel like the self-wellness cult is encroaching – but as Carrie awakens, removing their eye mask and cucumber, in a soft voice, she begins to tell a tale of their mantra, their absolute purification. How much audiences can extract from the experience is entirely dependent on them. In a rare instance, Louise Murray’s performance and intimacy are faultless is execution and commitment; there’s no break in character, even when the occasional joke or dropped item may present itself. It leaves a lasting impact – both as a piece of art and for the potential questions which continue to niggle audiences long after the fresh air of the outside smacks them. It’s a remarkably exposing show – challenging in parts; the audience may be fully clothed here, but they feel as vulnerable and exposed as Carrie.

Though tricky, glancing around unfurls additional elements of the experience while a pre-recorded tape plays over Murray’s words; words of control, discipline, and self-doubt echo and cut deep. The lengths and extremes which Carrie undergoes; some performed live, others conjured in words, are extreme and paint the disabling capabilities of capitalism and excess, as Carrie now spends their time purging themselves of everything artificial in pursuit of pristine health – while systematically removing themselves from society and reality.

The satire and commitment to the writing and performance make the show excel – its limitations lie in the audience’s receptiveness. The close-up polaroids of Carrie’s body, a sink full of self-wellness items (promoting health physical, mental, and sexual practises) are all threaded in well with the pacing – though some of the pre-recorded sections go on for a spell as Murray submerges themselves, the meticulous documentation of their ‘purification’ and the more interactive and self-reflective elements the productions keenest moments.

By the end of the half-hour session, audiences could find themselves in a state of reflection or disarray, meditative – though some may not want to leave – forming a strikingly visceral connection with Carrie. They might also have the urge to pollute their body with a doughnut or glass of red.

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