Shay Mace
In the sweltering heat that has come to define English summers recently, young queer couple Harriet and Andie find themselves caught in the day-to-day of trying to make their lives work together, in a flat they share. Andie is three months into their transition as a non-binary person, and while at first glance their idyllic relationship seems to be blossoming alongside Andie’s nascent identity, a slip of the tongue leads the pair down a rabbit hole that will leave them questioning the very foundations of their relationship.
Newcastle-based emerging theatre company 92 Beats offer a refreshingly naturalistic, charming and witty piece that dances in Gen Z slang and beautifully recognisable early twenties queer life. Defying all tropes, Compression Test is not a slender romcom, nor an outright tragedy, two formats that too often define queer representation, instead it takes the form of a prescient, intimate portrait of living in climate crisis, shifting identities, and coming to terms with one another’s imperfections. The title takes its form from Andie’s binder, which comes to represent a constriction on not just their gender presentation but a metaphor for how others, too, perceive them, often too narrowly.
Molly O’Donnell and Lily Blakeman’s co-written script tenderly weaves together vignettes that feel oh-so-familiar, and the deliberate situating of the piece against the backdrop of England’s hottest summer on record feels palpably relevant. O’Donnell, also taking on the role of Andie, produces a truly 3-dimensional portrait of a mind and body in transition, grappling with parental woes, relationships troubles in tandem with their changing body and emotions in a captivating characterisation. Andie never loses their innate levity, though, and the chronically online quips come as fast as the depth of their situation as it unfolds.
Harrison Rowley-Lynn captures the zestful presence of Harriet with charm – you see the immediate balancing act she plays to keep all the plates of her life spinning, against the backdrop of misunderstandings and miscommunications that seem to flutter past her and end up building up in a way she has not yet come to notice. The pair’s chemistry is unmistakable, and flows so well that you completely sink into their worlds, and collective world. This is much in part to Blakeman and co-director James Weaver’s snappy, tight direction that keeps the plot on-course across the whole runtime without losing the humour.
As a piece played in vignettes, there are moments where you can see scope for 92 Beats to develop a more imaginative theatrical language for the story – especially in the use of blackouts that snaps you out of what is otherwise a deeply immersing story. The kitchen-sink nature of the piece gives way soon to great depth, especially in how naturally the pair act out their interactions, and how ferociously they fall into their arguments in the latter act. Though there are moments where the segues could be tightened up, the fantastically created arc on show, with all of its conceits and little details, keeps you on tenterhooks throughout.
A simplistic production design, mostly set around the couple’s sofa, keeps things neat and tidy, but you can’t help but feel there’s a version of this piece that is set to a more expansive and involving soundscape, or lighting design. Developing this area further could give this production elevation and capture those emotive moments in an even more engrossing sense. Simultaneously, there are points where the backdrop of the climate crisis feel like they could be elucidated, and reveal greater truths about the future of our planet in tandem with the future of these individuals.
Above all, Compression Test so remarkably presents queer identity as a complicated lived reality, while keeping a quick-witted appeal to young queer people throughout. Fresh, involving, beautiful new writing that never lets up for a second, you should be sure to catch the next outing from 92 Beats.
Performances of Compression Test have now concluded at Durham Fringe 2026. Keep up with 92 Beats on Instagram.
Ariel Slack
