Performed and Written by Tegan Verheul

Directorial Support by Rosie Nicholls

Review by Dominic Corr

Assembly George Square: Tickets

What is a wrestling ring if not a stage? What is a ‘heel’ if not an antagonist? And what is ‘kayfabe’ if not the equivalent of ‘based on true events’? This Festival Fringe has continually shattered the barrier that Theatre and Sport are rival cultural juggernauts. And despite what political funding bodies think – they’re one and the same in importance and cultural heritage. And guess what, so is Wrestling.

Canadian performer and confessed Wrestling mega-fan Tegan Verheul’s Chokeslam takes solo performance to new heights. Well, at least from the top of a steel chair. Her storytelling, with some near stand-up sequences and a mix of solo performance theatre, is a profoundly accessible production on how they came to love wrestling through their now ex-husband, the connection the pair shared, and how, as the relationship demurred, the passion for Wrestling remained with Verheul.

For those who don’t know the difference between Sting, the professional wrestler, and the singer-songwriter and activist Sting, Chokeslam comes complete with a crash(mat) course on the ins and outs of Wrestling. It’s choppy, with some printed placards and images, and one of the very few things which a larger show in the future could easily make more theatrical, but it serves the purpose – and adds to the endearment of Verheul’s part confessional, part history of therapeutic blood-sport charm. But the heart of the show: Verheul as a person and performer is what sells their story fantastically and gradually lowers the testosterone-fuelled men in the audience who expected an hour of solid wrestling chat into a far more profound discussion on how we become the villains/heels of other peoples stories, and the importance self-love has over everything we put out into the world.

There’s nothing fearless in Verheul’s performance: the beauty comes from the fear. From the openness and genuine connection they build with the audience to their physicality, empathy, and comedic expressions that, over time, ensure that upon the show’s revelation (it is still a solo show, after all), no one in the room sees it coming, and the silence is powerful. Verheul doesn’t grapple, leg-lock, or attempt any fishhooks or close lines to force an emotional tie; she just opens up. And does so beautifully, but with a real iron-rod core of performance and pageant. Because, at the heart of the ring, Wrestling really is just Theatre’s sweatier brother. Chokeslam has a life beyond the Fringe, a hearty one, an enjoyable one, and one with plenty of forgiveness.

---