Sink The Pink at The Pleasance Theatre, London
Until 23rd Dec 2018
I’m not 100% sure this play made complete sense but then I didn’t go to see Sink The Pink tell me how to catch a Krampus for the sake of plot. I went to see epic queers don a number of macabre, yet sexy outfits and sing, lip sync, dance and sashay their way through two hours of queermassy good cheer with a ghoulish twist.
Kudos to Ginger Johnson for writing, directing and starring in this madness. She led us through the show with quick wit and cheerful aplomb. She even made a table float. Central to the show was a spooky story about a child going missing and something to do with a half-man, half-goat monster. It was a bit bizarre but there were some epically freaky dolls and much banging. The story was regularly interrupted by campy Vaudeville moments as each cast member got their moment to shine. David Cumming whipped and stripped us through the masochist tango and Mahatma Khandi’s operatic lip sync was bird-explodingly superb. My personal favourite were the Morris dancers with their sexual frustrations, bizarre gender norms and Paul Hollywood worship. Handshakes all round. The guys behind me particularly loved Susan, the one Morris dancer not named Morris and derided as such. The guys loved her so much that they kept shouting for her return. I’m glad they were having such fun. Fortunately, Susan (played by the brilliant Lavinia Coop) did come back to do a saucy Rihanna number, which ended in a hanging. Naturally. Meanwhile, Maxi More proved her impressive flexibility taking on a number of roles, definitely versatile. And Mairi Houston was fab as the moral core of the story – the little girl who’s lost her brother, with an angelic voice and occasionally demonic imagination. I particularly liked it when she couldn’t decide whether to feed her old father more soup or just smother him.
My apologies if you’ve got a little lost in this review, you’ll just have to go see the show. And please do because there isn’t enough queer theatre out there, made by queers and for everyone, because us queers are nice like that. Especially as Christmas can be a time of ramming home occasionally problematic heteronormative practices with chocolate logs and tinsel, it’s nice when the family dynamic gets queered. I did very much enjoy the show but felt it fell between two upturned stools – never quite committing to its story, nor the raucous numbers in between. Nevertheless, I had a queer ol’ time watching this preposterously camp extravaganza and I think you will too. You’ll laugh, you’ll buy alcohol during the interval and you’ll leave not having a fucking clue how to catch a Krampus. Merry Queermas.
©R. Holtom 2018