Squidge is a sharp, darkly funny and emotionally astute one-woman-show that captures the mutual, transformative power of care and connection in unlikely places. Rating
Excellent!
What kind of lizard tells jokes? A stand-up chameleon! And that’s exactly what writer and actress, Tiggy Bayley, is in Squidge – and more. Her one-woman show, skilfully directed by Selwin Hulme-Teague, is about a cynical one-to-one teaching assistant, Daisy, who navigates grief, sex, unlikely friendships and the inexplicable yet universal feeling of being out of place in your own life. She shifts seamlessly between an eccentric cast of characters… perhaps the most important being Paddy, the lizard-obsessed 10-year-old that Squidge hinges on.
The most striking aspect of Squidge is its authenticity. The world of a SEN teaching assistant, a perspective not frequently explored on stage, is rendered with perfect accuracy, feeling lived-in rather than observed. Bayley captures the strange in-between nature of the role: existing in an almost ambiguous space within the school system where it feels as though you’re not quite staff, not quite student. As Daisy puts it, she is “a giant, weirdly attractive Year 6”. Squidge doesn’t shy away from how difficult the job can be, commenting on how ill-equipped the wider education system is in supporting children with individual needs, as well as the emotional demands. We learn how quickly you can become invested in those you support, but lack the authority or responsibility to match. Through Daisy and Paddy’s unexpected bond, Squidge highlights that even when institutions fall short, there’s a power in these relationships that makes a tangible difference on both sides.
Bayley’s approach to storytelling is a standout. She confidently transitions between characters with smoothness and precision, each of them distinct, complex and familiar. Their voices are recognisable from real life. Daisy is the perfect protagonist, layered, grounded and darkly hilarious, keeping the piece from becoming overwhelming or overly bleak even when it shifts to the heavier, well-explored central thread around grief.
The production does, at times, feel technically underdeveloped. Despite the scale of the stage, the space is not fully utilised, which occasionally leaves the performance feeling smaller than it could be. A more dynamic approach to staging – be it through sound being introduced earlier, more creative lighting, stronger physical theatre or even puppetry – could have elevated Squidge, breaking up the monologue-driven structure whilst complementing Bayley’s captivating performance.
The pacing of emotional peaks could also benefit from restraint. With Daisy suffering several breakdowns throughout, their impact becomes diluted. Holding back and having Daisy almost reach these moments but just managing to constrain herself until she slams her coat to the floor will give low points a more heartbreaking, resonant payoff. Near the end of the piece, the writing occasionally leans into over-explaining emotion, losing nuance where it could instead rely more on subtext.
That said, Squidge is a thoughtful, moving yet deeply funny piece, carried by a performance by Bayley that’s impossible not to be charmed by. Squidge’s perspective is both fresh and necessary, relatable to not only those working in education but also to anyone who has ever felt unexpectedly changed by another person.
Writer/Actor: Tiggy Bayley
Director: Selwin Hulme-Teague
Producers: Poppy Maxwell & White Noise Theatre
Squidge plays at Riverside Studios until Friday March 29
