They say you should never go to sleep angry, but if you never go to sleep in the first place surely you can stay as angry as you like? At least, this seems to be the logic for cabaret artist and life-long insomniac, Telia Nevile.
Her new one-woman show, Insomniac Mixtape is an ode to the sleep-deprived and anxious; to sleepless nights spent overthinking and mornings spent over-caffeinated.
We follow Nevile for over fifty minutes as she tries everything to fall asleep: visualization, deep breathing, True Crime podcasts. But, "like a raccoon watching fairy floss dissolve in a puddle", every attempt fails, and she goes from counting sheep to wanting to shoot them down.
Nevile has been quietly delivering award-winning cabaret performances here and abroad for years. Her shows are fun, charming, if at times unremarkable, productions elevated by tight storytelling and well-crafted songs that dabble in every genre from Lofi ballad to garage rock. As a writer, Nevile has a poet’s eye for rhythm and metaphor cut with a comedian’s talent for wordplay. For Insomniac Mixtape’s soundtrack, she has enlisted the help of long-time music partner James Dowell. But while well-crafted and occasionally charming, the show is under-directed and ultimately falls flat.
In 2021, Nevile made the transition to online theatre seamlessly with her show, Little Monster. On screen, it seemed as if she was speaking directly to you. The intimacy that resulted was key to the show’s success. Insomniac Mixtape, too, is available via Fringe On Demand as an audio piece. But Nevile struggles to achieve a similar intimacy in person. The moments of direct address which open the show are calm and engaging; a perfect showcase of Nevile’s earnest delivery and innate likeability that paints her as the personalised ASMR track coaxing you to sleep. Her quiet approach to breaking the fourth wall works in aid of the show’s commendable investment in Sensory Friendly practices while also creating an alluring atmospheric quality that recalls the peculiar air and stillness of those twilight hours.
But for the rest of the show, Nevile is noticeably low-energy. She delivers each number almost completely still, centre stage, ignoring opportunities to engage the audience or hesitating when the script requires her to. The show begins to feel unhelpfully sluggish as a result; drowsy rather than dream-like. Her boisterous, high-energy songs - featuring a garage rock lament for a snoring partner, an ode to naval gazing and a synth-heavy anthem for all those who kill their house plants - seem unhelpfully muted. Despite catchy choruses and top-tapping melodies, these numbers struggle to hold our attention.
The one exception is an energetic final number dedicated to insomniac ‘zombies’. All of a sudden, Nevile revels in dance breaks and audience interaction. But it’s too little too late, and we’re left reminded of the show’s many missed opportunities - frustrated and a bit sleepy.