“As soon as you can see, you realise you can be seen”.
Naomi Wood’s spoken-word show Monster explores all the monsters bubbling below the surface, from people-pleasing and anxiety to religion, alcohol and the uncomfortable habit of ignoring our own instincts.
Caravanserai’s Junk Poets tent proves the perfect setting for this intimate performance. Naomi enters in a Zelda-like green corset, crawling across the floor while staring directly at the audience. It’s a captivating opening and one that immediately draws us into her world.
The stage design is simple, but effective. A tall, handmade jellyfish glows in one corner, alongside a treasure chest, immediately creating intrigue. At the back of the stage sits a table with a wooden cross – used to signify her relationship with religion as she grew up.
Throughout Monster, Naomi uses the sea and its strange creatures as a lens through which to explore her lived experiences of religion, drinking, mental illness, and navigating life as a woman. This poignant and beautiful show drifts effortlessly between poetry, lucid movement and conversational humour. Her gift for storytelling allows her to approach tough subjects with tenderness, care and raw emotion.
Particularly striking is the way Naomi finds the universal in the personal. Whether she’s talking about squeezing into painful heels for a night out, wrestling with shame, or wanting solitude while knowing connection is probably what’s needed most, her stories feel deeply recognisable.
At one point, towards the end of the show, she pauses to admit she can’t hear anything over the booming music from the nearby bandstand. It’s a reminder of the challenges of outdoor Fringe venues, but Naomi never loses her composure or command of the space.
After touring her previous show Gobbess around the UK, it’s exciting to see the Brighton-based performer return with another thoughtful and emotionally rich piece of work. Monster is funny, moving and full of vivid imagery. And if you ever get the chance to see it, don’t be surprised if you find yourself laughing one minute, wiping away a tear the next and, somehow, sharing a packet of crisps with a room full of strangers.
By Josie May