Director: Jess Haygarth
Ushered into the auditorium by slate-grey clad middle managers Marlene and Shellie (Angela Jones & Sarah Farrell) and confronted with a contract to be signed in a near-illegible font, the audience of I Hate It Here waive their employment rights to ‘Big Boss’ within the first few seconds of I Hate It Here, and nervous anticipation creeps in as to the extent of our audience participation. This rite is soon revealed to be symbolic, however, and fear subsides as the three players of I Hate It Here’s ‘one-hour shift’ game-show emerge to tell the stories of three characters spanning professions and generations. As the doomsday countdown ticks away, I Hate It Here unwinds its characters’ stories to reveal the baring truths and oppressive realities of the lives of three zero-hours contract workers trying to navigate financial hardship, childcare, youth, and find time for humanity in the gaps. It resonates profoundly in a 2022 where financial and job security is a faint wish for many and a culture of relentless grind is pervasive; I Hate It Here feels to be still searching for an artistic outlet of its own.
The stories curated by this devised production are powerful and compelling without a doubt, and sidestepping the pitfall of generalising zero-hours contracts as a primarily youth issue becomes the greatest asset of its story-telling. Plang, for example, an ‘elderly careworker who loves a boogie’ is intricately brought to life by Jude Mack with attention to detail in the development of this character’s mannerism and humour. Whether Spud’s (Kathrine Payne) abusive boss or Tara Leslie’s (Conor Dumbrell) childcare issues, each character faces their own emotional, financial, and social hardship as the result of their insecure working situation; there is something uniquely heart-wrenching in watching Mack detail the system’s lack of humanity as carers are shifted from patient to patient without so much as a farewell.
Engaging and stimulating, the pace of the production is kept at a constant simmer, zig-zagging from character to character and place to place. Jess Haygarth’s direction keeps us on our toes as an audience, never quite sure as to where we’ll be headed next in this labyrinth of stories, nor what form the storytelling will take. As an audience, it feels as though there are perhaps a few too many handbrake-turns in form. From verbatim, to stylised movement, dance breaks, song, narration, and audience interaction — every tool in the box is used to bring life to these stories, where the most successful would suffice.
Comically ejected from the theatre in the final moments of the performance, we are provided with a QR code to experience this project in yet another way, now as a fully-fledged member of I Hate It Here’s bank of casual working staff. Its intention and creativity is undeniable, neglecting a curtain-call and blending the production’s message with reality as we head back out into our uncertain world to live out these stories for ourselves, beautifully robbed of catharsis.