A chaotic and fearless solo show that confronts psychiatry as it drags its audience into madness.Rating
Good!
When I was 19, in an attempt to stabilise some volatile emotions, a doctor added two disorders to my GP notes, each followed by a tentative “(?)”. Rather than clarifying anything, those question marks multiplied over time, leaving every subsequent GP as skittish as I was, until I finally had these half-diagnoses removed three years ago.
In short, I feel unusually well-positioned to meet Sammy Trotman’s manic That’s Not My Name on its own terms. Over 75 minutes, Trotman grapples with privilege, disability, mental health, and psychiatry in a deliberately fragmented, non-linear way. The result is part clown show, part stand-up, part spoken word, part musical. It is proudly ‘untrained’ and undeniably inventive, even if, at times, it veers into incomprehensibility.
As the show’s central figure, Trotman delivers a dizzyingly physical performance, compulsively creating chaos before attempting to tidy it away, only to repeat the cycle. There’s no taboo they’re not willing to confront to make us, the audience, better understand their madness – but then again, no, they don’t owe us anything but a show, the same way we owe them applause at the end. This physical representation of ‘doing it for attention’ is deeply affecting but can leave the audience as breathless as the performer, with little room to fully process what’s unfolding.
Unusually, the supporting presence comes from the director, Marcy Rix, and the sound technician, Scott Ward, who appear on and off-stage and contribute to some of the production’s most moving moments. Trotman’s rapport with them, especially with Rix, fizzes with energy that makes you doubt the scripted nature of the show. It neatly captures the strain that madness can place on personal relationships, and the isolation that follows when those support systems are no longer there to catch us. Musical numbers performed by Trotman alongside this ‘cast’ shine, evoking the heightened absurdity of TV’s Crazy Ex-Girlfriend at its most unhinged.
There’s a lot to enjoy here, and I hesitate to give criticism that I don’t think Trotman is particularly interested in, considering their remarks on reviewers during the show (whether this is Trotman the character or Trotman the writer, we’ll never be sure). At times, the structure could benefit from greater clarity, and not every stylistic shift lands with equal confidence. The best way to phrase it is that this show won’t be everyone’s cup of tea: it’s confrontational, chaotic, and most of all, mental.
It is, however, very much so my cup of tea, and I would recommend it to anyone who wants to experience an evening like no other. Trotman is a performer and writer to watch, and I am more than glad to give them the applause they deserve at the end.
Written & Performed by: Sammy Trotman
Directed by: Marcy Rix
Sound & Lighting by: Scott Ward
Produced by: ASYLUM Arts & Covered in Jam
Supported by: Harlow Playhouse
That’s not my name has completed its run at The Pleasance.
