The Worst of Scottee

Alt cabaret hero Scottee has carved out a serious name for himself in his own world, but this brave, eccentric confessional, devised and directed by leftfield theatre maker Chris Goode, is in danger of making him a full-on star.

It begins with him delivering a fun but gimmicky run through torch standard ‘Cry Me a River’, during which the shades-wearing Scottee, sat in the show’s photobooth set, ‘cries’ a copious stream of black tears via a concealed device.

Frivolity is gradually discarded, as he sets to telling stories from his life, a sort of greatest hits of his worst moments: the time he told friends that his ex-girlfriend was dead (she wasn't); the day he informed his boss he had Aids (he had a hangover). Droll as they are, the stories are all poignantly illustrative of Scottee’s difficulty coping with adolescence and his burgeoning sexuality. They pave the way for the sucker punch of the last section, a lengthy account of how he was accused of rape as a young teenager.

For most of the show he sits side-on, speaking not to us but into the photobooth’s camera: there’s a riff on the selfie here, surely, but theatrically speaking it’s a neat distancing device that stops the show feeling like the sobfest it might if he addressed us directly.

Goode’s great trick is to use a measure of artifice to make ‘The Worst of Scottee’ feel less artificial than it would if it were delivered straight. Apparently freed from the need to perform to an audience, Scottee delivers his story in a matter-of-fact tone that’s devastating in its plainness.