“Pity Party”, D&Q Theatre (Disabled and Queer Theatre) at Bread and Roses Theatre

Jeremy Malies in Clapham, South-west London
★★☆☆☆
7 May 2026

I’m never quite sure how edgy this is; but that, of course, might be a subtle aspect of the whole business of being edgy. I was no doubt invited by the company to a dress rehearsal for a reason – not fathomed by me, but I should therefore discuss it as a dress rehearsal. The run is finished but if there is to be a revival then it can be seen as a useful platform.

The performer, Emma Bailey (not sure of pronouns but they were announced and I’ll go for “them/they”) is from Portsmouth. They are Queer, non-binary and disabled though the nature of any physical challenges faced was not part of plot or action. That of course is a positive.

It’s a birthday party except that, at the close of the play, Emma announces that they have been stringing us along and it’s not in fact their birthday. So it’s been a piece of whimsy?

Emma greets us from their bed with their clothing on a rail stage left.  I was never quite sure if the protagonist was in secure accommodation or in their home. And that was the most intriguing aspect. There was quizzing of audience members. We were given an abstract conceptual question and asked to come back immediately with the first one-word answer that sprung to mind. I quite enjoyed this and would have welcomed more.

With the shifting viewpoints (audience becoming part of the show) I was reminded of Belgian company Ontroerend Goed who often work in this style but matters here were in no way confrontational. There were safety nets if you did not want to answer.

I don’t know if it was one of the two versions I have been brought up on (Lesley Gore and Helen Shapiro) but Bailey kicks matters off with the 1963 hit “It’s My Party” so Bailey will cry if they want to.

Sitting in the second row stage right, Ismael Akram appears for all intents and purposes to be a fellow audience member, answering questions along with us. Then there is a Pirandellian moment and Akram becomes part of the action, stepping onto the stage and interacting with Bailey. There are tactile exchanges evoking a warmth, but the nature of the affection is unclear.

The piece has been written, directed and choreographed by Bailey with fellow actor Akram being assistant director and also doing the marketing. One did wonder if scrutiny and input from a third party might bring a bit of rigour to all this. A birthday card from Bailey’s mother prompts them into Philip Larkin territory. “They fuck you up, your mum and dad. / They may not mean to, but they do.”

Bailey had trouble putting on and taking off clothing, and that is exactly the kind of thing a dress rehearsal irons out. Talking of ironing out – the dishevelled nature of the room makes you want to go straight home and begin tidying your own quarters. I didn’t understand a sequence of spray-painting oneself with what I hope was a non-toxic paint. A work in progress, perhaps. Certainly brave and introspective, and in no way prescriptive which is the main merit of the piece.