Millennials, eh? Guzzling their avocados and binging Netflix, expecting everything to be handed to them on a plate. Well, maybe not, argues Susie Sillett’s monologue, which follows a recent university graduate, now working an okay job after a year of unpaid internships. Anxious, eager to impress, quick to apologise and defending herself with a conspicuously silly sense of humour, it’s clear her personality has been shaped by the pressures of her economic environment.
Opening in a supermarket aisle as the protagonist decides between getting a can of branded chickpeas or two own-brand cans and putting one in the food bank, Sillett zeroes in on the university-educated millennial mindset. While financial precariousness and urban isolation is tough, the protagonist is also painfully aware of her privilege, constantly measuring herself against her parent’s generation, her grandparents’ and those living in poverty in third-world countries – “there are people who have it worse”.
The writing is sharp and quick, and just as you begin to wonder how long its mode of observational critique can sustain itself, it moves into something much sadder, elegiac and poetic.
Playing the protagonist, Louise Beresford is a supremely assured presence, which sometimes works against the character’s highly-strung energy, but when she hits the emotional beats in the second half she is very good indeed.