Em Tambree
I cannot stop thinking about this show. In the days following You and Me (and Whoever Comes Next), attempting to describe it leaves me sobbing all over again in a Sainsbury’s aisle. This is not merely exceptional disabled-led theatre; it offers a blueprint for its future.
Disabled and pre-disabled artists regularly ask how we can work together ethically. How do we collaborate without reproducing systems in which d/Deaf and Disabled people must minimise our needs to remain employable, palatable or worthy of care? Co-written by Keron Day and Alex Howarth with Helen Chong, this groundbreaking new play does not offer a theoretical answer. It builds the theatrical and collaborative framework our sector desperately needs.
Keron is Disabled. Dani is his Personal Assistant. It is not as fancy as it sounds. It is an extraordinarily complex relationship. This is the person Keron wakes up to, who sees him each night before they fall asleep, and upon whom they rely to stay alive. How do you regulate an intimacy usually reserved for loved ones through contracts and healthcare systems embedded within capitalism? Where does professional support end when two people inevitably begin supporting one another, day after day, within the intimacy of their shared home?
As governments withdraw funding and public systems fail, relationships like Keron and Dani’s are forced to carry the impossible weight of filling the gaps left behind. Keron’s attempts to diminish their needs in order to become easier to love is heartbreakingly universal, extending far beyond Disabled narratives, as demonstrated by Dani’s own inability to access the healthy relationships and resources she needs.
Keron remains devastatingly aware that their independence relies upon precarious employment and underfunded government support systems. The gradual revelation of trauma within previous care relationships is deftly filtered through humorous tableaux and caricature. By contrast, the genuine warmth between Keron and Dani initially makes her lapses in professionalism appear forgivable, before the writing adroitly reveals how those same lapses could place a vulnerable person’s life at risk.
This vulnerability extends far beyond the stage. Disabled adults experience assault at approximately twice the rate of pre-disabled adults, while dependence upon others and barriers to reporting can leave cases dangerously concealed. That risk can exist within support work itself: those entrusted with access to a Disabled person’s body, home and survival are also positioned to take advantage that trust. The production recognises this reality without reducing Keron to a victim or transforming their hardship into spectacle.
An account of sexual assault is communicated non-visually through an offstage voice, embodying Keron’s dissociation while protecting the psychological safety of both artist and audience. We experience its aftermath without ever being asked to consume its violence. It is an extraordinarily considered depiction of an experience too often erased from Disabled stories or leveraged for dramatic impact.
Following emotionally demanding scenes, the performers visibly and verbally check in with one another. A hand reaches across the stage. One actor waits until another confirms they are ready to continue. They take a breath together. We watch the ensemble navigate the emotional demands of the work with immaculate patience and ongoing consent.
Alex Howarth’s direction is the finest I have encountered at this festival. These acts of care are ones that would ordinarily occur backstage (hidden before the “real” performance continues). Here, an extraordinary directorial choice weaves them into the fabric of the play itself. The production does not merely discuss ethical care; it practises it through every element of its stagecraft, transforming collective care into a thread connecting every person in the room.
Merle Powell-Smith’s folk-infused composition, performed live by the ensemble, becomes another expression of reciprocity: supporting the performers through difficult recollections and gently holding the audience beside them. Alice McNicholas’ costume design establishes a soft, playful visual world that ensures Keron’s rich inner life receives the joy and abundance it deserves.
Every part and person within You and Me (and Whoever Comes Next) is leading by example the play’s philosophy of care: “Ask me what I want to do and help me find a way to do it.” The production does precisely that, creating the conditions in which Keron can tell their own story on their own terms, while remaining unmistakably at its centre.
I spent almost the entire performance as a snotty, sniffling mess. I cried for myself, but also for the Disabled people beside and beyond me whose dependence is mistaken for weakness, whose needs are treated as burdens, and whose lives are rarely given the space and time to be as celebrated as Kerons.
Transformative and downright revolutionary, You and Me (and Whoever Comes Next) makes care visible as both an artistic practice and a means of keeping one another alive. Disabled or otherwise, this is the future of theatre itself.
Recommended Drink: Pay it forward at your favourite nearby cafe —one for you and one for whoever comes next.
You can catch You and Me (and Whoever Comes Next) at Old Lab at Summerhall between 6th August and 29th August at 15:00 (60 mins). Tickets are available through the EdFringe Box Office.
Roe McDonnell
Issy Cory
