Presented by Michelle Renee Johnson & A/Park Productions

Review by Josie Rose

Willow Studio at Greenside @ Riddles Court

We’ve all got it. Or, well, several. Tipsy stories in the back pocket, but exchanging a personal catalogue of lost weekends into captivating theatre requires considerably more than a sharp hangover. In Extra Dry, writer and performer Michelle Renee Johnson turns the spotlight on her own volatile relationship with alcohol; an engaging, if often-tread concept.  Directed by Lila Rachel Becker, this autobiographical solo show begins with a tantalisingly slick beat as Johnson crafts an extra-dry serving at a mic stand, initially framing the piece as a love letter to the substance that unlocked her artistic confidence. However, this romantic veneer rapidly dissolves into a monologue detailing the cyclical, shame-ridden treadmill of severe alcohol abuse.

Where the production shines is in its perceptive observation of how teenage insecurity and a desperate craving for popularity can twist heavy drinking into an alluring social lifeline; and let’s face it, in Scotland, this will speak to generation after generation. Johnson speaks with an engaging frankness about her college days, evoking the terrifying disorientation of blackouts, waking up in strange beds, and facing the unvarnished indignities of morning-after regrets. This erratic mental state is smartly echoed by Patti Panyakaew’s set design – dominated by an illuminated bar – which seamlessly pairs with Ryan Gamblin’s sound design to plunge the stage into an impending ‘whitey’.

Yet, this clever atmospheric immersion cannot entirely disguise the script’s structural limitations. The narrative quickly settles into a repetitive loop of boozy misadventures, hospital visits, and forgotten nights that leaves the piece feeling less like a fully realised drama and more a repetitious series of stories without a culminating act. Johnson’s performance physically reflects her character’s collapse, periodically staggering around the space or dropping abruptly to the floor. While these physical beats demonstrate a bold commitment to portraying her journey soberly, the execution occasionally lacks smoothness, needed to sustain tension across a solitary hour.

Because the writing rarely digs beneath the surface to interrogate the root causes of her problem drinking, the emotional stakes remain somewhat superficial. While the episodic nature replicates that of a serial drinker’s lapses in memory, it is neither capitalised nor delved into ultimately; Extra Dry is an honest, courageous act of personal release. It holds genuine promise and sharp flashes of insight, but it requires further dramaturgical development to evolve beyond a series of brief anecdotes.          

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