Review: Sarah Roberts: Silkworm, Soho Theatre

In Silkworm, coming to London directly from Edinburgh, comic Sarah Roberts covers a lot of ground: body image, central character syndrome, being bullied at school, fingering, self-esteem, coming out as queer, having her jaw broken, candy crush, having her jaw fixed, Instagram and, specifically, the Instagram of Gladiator II hearthrob Paul Mascal. It’s a lot. 

None of her material, she is at pains to point out early in the show, should be confused with cleverly layered introspection. Roberts affirms that Silkworm is not deep, profound or even open to interpretation. It is about two things, and two things alone: how hot she is and how talented she is. 

Spoiler alert: This is a set-up, merely a playful ruse that the audience quite rightly ignores. We quickly buckle in, all set for a heartfelt confessional hour, which, thanks to buckets full of disarming charm and a refusal to conform to expectations, is full of great surprises. 

The fact that Roberts provides a fresh voice and packs her show with new ideas is remarkable considering we’ve heard so much about anxiety disorders, sexual misadventures, bodily fluids and break-ups, online addiction, celebrity crushes, and facial reconstructive surgery before. OK, maybe not the last one, but she makes that curveball seem oddly relatable, too. Overall, the show acts as a refreshingly original rallying cry for Gen Z women. Roberts has been there, done that and got the t-shirt, ladies. And she is going to talk about it loudly like your new, slightly over-confident, best friend on a big night out. 

It’s not a polemical act, although powerful asides about the patriarchy fall casually into Roberts’ microphone often enough to remind everyone of the state of the world. Men are, however, welcomed and celebrated, for the most part, except a King Rat of a celebrity ex-boyfriend. Oh, and the one who died. It must be said that both of these characters served their purpose, so everyone wins. Onwards, ever onwards.  

The act wobbles occasionally when Roberts tries a little too hard to work the room. I’m often intrigued by comics that reach out to the audience if it’s not their strength. Why do it? Roberts could have easily ploughed through without picking on an unhelpfully mild-mannered gent in the front row or encouraging awkward not-quite-heckles. PowerPoint interludes, too, feel surplus to requirements. Roberts’ material is strong enough to stand on its own.

But these are minor quibbles in an otherwise winning hour. In the final ten minutes, she weaves her narrative threads into a satisfying, if slightly tongue-in-cheek, resolution-come-choreographed finale. By the time the lights come up, we’ve all learned about identity, insecurity, confidence, and yes, how to be hot and talented on your own terms. Roberts is indeed both, but she’s also very funny and deceptively thoughtful. Silkworm is a confident, chaotic, and compelling debut. And if this is what Roberts is doing right now, her future shows are going to be something special.

Written by Sarah Roberts
Directed by Daniel Emery & Molly Stacey.

Silkworm plays at the Soho Theatre until Wednesday 23 May