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‘I hope I’m making a good impression,’ says Tienne Simon as English literature first-year student Malachi – the subject of Kwame Owusu’s arresting, songlike monologue ‘Dreaming and Drowning’. But, he need not worry. In a mere 60 minutes, both he and Owusu have cemented themselves as some of the best, freshest and most agile talents of the year.
It is a story of mental health, hope and the joy of finding your people that begins on Malachi’s first night at Bristol University. With all the jitters and excitement that come with a new start, he bounds into his grey box room, ready to study his favourite Black fantasy authors and find ‘his people’.
But below his cheery exterior, internal demons rise. Dark cracks of anxiety start to break through into seminar rooms. An oceanic, mythical beast dominates his thoughts. The horrors Malachi has read about in books mutate into tangible, earthly fears. Holly Khan’s sound design transforms hums into endless thumping – there’s the sense that something is trying to break Malachi apart. He’s dreaming. He’s drowning. He’s scrambling to stay afloat.
Owusu’s script fluidly moves between reality and nightmare – he is a writer so dexterous we never feel jolted. As he journeys across campus, through friendship groups and sticky-floored, ‘Mr Brightside’-blasting clubs, Malachi works hard to fit in and find a place he can comfortably call home. It is a lesson in self-discovery: encounters with racist fellow students who love the sound of their own voice, and standoffish flatmates who can’t see his point of view.
It would be legitimate for Owusu to make his play a whirlwind of angst and trauma, but ‘Dreaming and Drowning’ is folded in moments when Malachi grins from ear to ear – the real joy comes as he starts to crawl out of his shell. On meeting second-year student Kojo who runs the Black Queer society, his elation at potentially finding love radiates so much so you can almost see his butterflies. It’s a relief. It’s a sign to keep on going.
There seems to be no better actor than Simon to breathe Malachi to life. Under the rhythmic movement direction of Ingrid Mackinnon, he clings onto the roof of the stage like a climbing frame, desperately willing his body to flee its villains. He finds the pattern in the lyricism of Owusu's script, as well as the endless humour. He is such a wonderfully warm and candid presence: it almost hurts to leave him after his final bow.
Of course there are occasional dips – there could be more tension built into the final act. But the potential here is boundless. These are the stars of tomorrow. Or, even right now.