Crises Personal, Familial and Climatic at Traverse

In addition to the deeply moving Lost Lear and the angry-but-scattered Nowhere, three ambitious plays rotate in repertory this August on Traverse 1, Travis Theatre’s main stage. One interrogates the traditions of British pantomime, another depicts a 90th birthday party gone spectacularly wrong, and the third unfolds in 1856 New York, 2027 London and 2100 Svalbard.

She’s Behind You

“Panto is for children. Panto is a family show. Panto is as hetero as that man there in cargo shorts.” — Dorothy

She’s Behind You dives into the traditions of the British pantomime, posing its primary dramatic question early, but not, of course, before a lively opening number titled, appropriately enough, “Here in Traverse 1”. Johnny McKnight, appearing as his beloved character Dorothy Blawna-Gale, looks out into the audience and asks: “Has the day of being a panto dame reached its natural end?”

Because the show’s glittery poster answers this mostly rhetorical question before it’s even proposed, it’s no spoiler to reveal that McKnight firmly believes the answer is no. At its core, She’s Behind You exists to show us how and why he came to that conclusion. Make no mistake: McKnight wants the panto dame to carry on: “Used properly we can be an ally. A political activist. A subversive agent that can push representation on stage. And we can do it in gingham with matching undergarments.”

Tightly directed by John Tiffany, She’s Behind You is part history lesson, part autobiographical exploration and part dazzling entertainment — all wrapped into one sparkling gem of a show. With decades of stage experience under his belt dress, the ever-magnetic McKnight effortlessly engages the audience (“You don’t just see panto. Panto sees you!”) as he leads the show to an ending that is both moving and imploring. “Keep moving forward,” McKnight entreats. “Break the rules and make your own.”

Consumed

Consumed takes place during a 90th birthday dinner in Bangor, Northern Ireland, where four generations of women gather under one fractiously rocky roof. Following in the grand theatrical traditions of the natal-day celebrations in Harold Pinter’s The Birthday Party, Mart Crowley’s Boys in the Band and Jackie Sibblies Drury’s Fairview, the inevitable cake in Consumed comes layered with dysfunction and frosted with wickedness.

Things seem off from the start. The kitchen counters are overstuffed with appliances and supplies, the stove is covered with steaming pots and pans, and Eileen, the cranky matriarch of the clan, can’t stop being a contrarian, especially with Gilly, her unflappable daughter who’s insistent that the party happen.

Eileen: I hate soup. You know I hate soup. Gilly: I think you’ll like this one.

Eileen: Why, when in all of my ninety years, I’ve never liked soup, would I suddenly like this one?

Gilly: What’s wrong with soup? Eileen: It’s too wet.

Gilly wants to get the party started as soon as her daughter Jenny and granddaughter Muireann arrive from London, but Muireann has no interest in food, and Jenny insists they wait for her father before beginning.

Jenny: Mum. What about dad?

Gilly: What about him?

Jenny: We should wait for him to eat.

Gilly: We eat while it’s hot. Those are the rules. Now sit down.

Jenny: Did he say what time he’d be home?

Gilly: Who?

Playwright Karis Kelly has crafted a bold, and ambitious black comedy that tackles much in its brisk 70 minutes: intergenerational trauma, fraught mother-daughter bonds, and the long shadow of the Irish border. Under Katie Posner’s nimble direction, the play’s rhythm never falters, and this divine cast — Julia Dearden, Andrea Irvine, Caoimhe Farren and Muireann Ní Fhaogáin — could not be bettered.

Where the piece falters is in its final moments. After such sharp and carefully staged build-up, the ending feels abrupt, as though a vital scene or beat is missing. Up until then, this superb play is nearly flawless, and that makes the finale’s suddenness all the more jarring and noticeable. Kelly has already deservedly garnered one major prize for this play. With a touch more refinement, more accolades are certain to follow.

The Beautiful Future is Coming

The most exciting aspect of Flora Wilson Brown’s ambitious The Beautiful Future is Coming is its scope: 250 years, three continents, and a planet that may not survive to see the promise in its title.

In 1856 New York, Eunice (Phoebe Thomas), a scientist dismissed as an amateur simply because she’s a woman, discovers the effects of CO₂ decades before anyone will listen. Her frustration is relentless, soothed only by her understanding husband John (Matt Whitchurch, a standout). In 2027 London, Claire (Nina Singh) and Dan (Jyuddah Jaymes) navigate a relationship that slides from cute courtship to fraught struggles as climate disasters escalate.

And in 2100 Svalbard, Ana (Rosie Dwyer) and Malcolm (James Bradwell) are trapped in a seed vault during an 86-day storm, leading them to question whether it’s ethical to bring a child into a world teetering on collapse.

Malcolm: Last year there was a storm in Florida that lasted one hundred and two days.

Ana: That was — We’re not in Florida.

Malcolm: By the end of it —

Ana: We are not in Florida.

Malcolm: I know.

Director Nancy Medina makes each timeline distinct, but the constant leaps in time and place prevent any single story from reaching its full dramatic potential. The London plot, in particular, falters; a late twist feels unearned, stretching credulity. As daring and urgent as the play is, the ending lands muted. Still, its core message persists: climate change isn’t a distant threat, and the choices we make today will have repercussions for successive generations.