Words by: Mandy Moe Pwint Tu
When I signed up to go to Sad Girls Club, there were a few things I expected. I knew it took place in a yurt, so I expected a yurt. I knew SJ Finch was in charge of the show, so I expected him to turn up at some point. And I expected Sad Girls.
To be fair, I got all three. SJ Finch showed up to introduce us to the show; it was indeed inside a yurt; and there were sad girls.
But little else.
The inside of the yurt was exquisite, beautifully decorated, and hauntingly poetic. Tonight, it was home to a few different types of sad girls: sad girl hunched over a magazine, tearing up the pages; sad girl refusing to eat; sad girl despising her own reflection; sad girl picking at chrysanthemum flowers; sad girl eating an apple; sad girl at the piano, singing her sorrowful songs. The point of the show? There’s nothing wrong with them, they’re just sad.
Which is all fine and well, if that’s all you’re looking for. I spent most of my time in the magazines/book corner, and managed to pen a poem in one of the sad girls’ diaries that they had lying around. I spent the rest of my time watching the sad girls move across the yurt as if in slow motion, intentionally oblivious to the spectators of their melancholy, and picking at the petals of a chrysanthemum someone had handed me.
There was not much by way of performance; Sad Girls Club is more ambiance than anything. It demands that you willingly immerse yourself in the activities of the sad girls, with little to no prompting by the sad girls themselves. If you’re into that sort of thing, then this show is for you. However, if, like me, you are after something more, you would be well advised to stay away from the club.
(I have been informed that this was an immersive theatre event. Turns out I’m not big on immersive theatre events.)