Julia Grogan’s fame-obsessed baby ballet teacher reveals the dark side of ambition in this unhinged solo show about a thwarted dancer’s quest for the spotlight.
With fast-paced wit, some brilliantly pitched teacherly quirks and a cinematic blend of visuals, the heady comedy drama captures the toxifying frustrations of trying to ‘make it’ in the arts, playfully revealing the sadness and desperation of people who live only to be seen.
Miss June is hilariously one-track-minded, hell-bent on winning as a performer and landing that big job as a dancer, actor and/or singer on TV. Fantasies of future success are placed against more stripped-back moments of obsessing over Daisy Edgar-Jones videos, and she can’t help showing off her star quality, especially when there are TV producers present.
When a dream job falls through, she must come crawling back to her former teacher and now boss Pam to resume her role as teacher at a baby ballet school, pouring her need for validation into their upcoming showcase. New student Harvey’s producer parents will be in attendance. Cue narcissistic takeover.
The sequence that follows is a relentlessly funny demonstration of psychic imbalance and toe-tapping silliness, with Miss June’s attempts to whip the students into shape showcasing a thoroughly perceptive teaching style that will resonate with anyone who’s gone to performing arts classes. She’s tough because she wants them to succeed.
One of the many fascinating choices is the flexibility of the children’s age, with the tots being referred to as explicitly younger than two, but being treated as if they are capable of pirouettes, splits and complex routines. This reinforces the sense that Miss June is in fact speaking to a past version of herself, where her own treatment as a student is reflected in the ways she both shames and encourages the children, mostly for her own benefit.
Other features that elevate this tightly written and confident performance are Han Sayles’ stylish projections, which include titled acts and occasional flashes of surreal images that reinforce the glitchy repetitions and interjections of George Dennis and Maria Zschlommer’s sound design, and the general fragility of Miss June’s psychological state.
This piece works best when it keeps us guessing, and a few more surprise punches could push it further. As it stands, this is a deft, theatrical and utterly contemporary story that delivers its promise with a spectacularly deranged finale, and calls into question our obsession with talent. You’re So Special is bursting with it.
