^{Cover Image: A Cure For Loneliness asks audiences to connect to feel part of something bigger. Image by Edify Media.}

Lauren Marchbank’s show A Cure for Loneliness works hard from the moment you enter the space to live up to its name. The usher at The Blue Room lets us in groups of four, and we are greeted personally by the performer and pose for a group photo on a Polaroid camera. Already, we are more than disparate audience members; the usual silent divide between strangers has broken down.

As I take my seat on a low platform and lean against a cushion on the wall, I have the comforting feeling of having walked into my teenage bedroom. The fluff-covered furniture, hanging lightbulbs and Polaroids on the wall of are subtle yet familiar, thanks to Emma Fishwick’s set design, making it is easier to strike up a conversation with the stranger next to me. It is an unusually intimate, but not uncomfortable, seating arrangement that restricts the sold-out show to only about twenty-five audience members.

While the majority of A Cure for Loneliness is dance, I would hesitate to define it as exclusively a work of dance. Through projection and voiceover narration, Lauren tells us about herself, her likes and dislikes, and her experience of loneliness as a person living with Down syndrome. This introduction is an effective shortcut to feeling as if we know Lauren well, and that we are here to support her. The sound design by Roly Skender perfectly sets the scene for both the high-energy dance sequence and the slow, contemplative meditation section. We are invited to lie on beanbags or curl up where we are, as we meditate with Lauren, and then reflect on how we feel by writing on the floor with paint pens. On my brief walk around to read other people’s notes at the end of the show, I see many positive references to happiness, contentment, and connection.

The dance portion itself is recognisably (even from my lack of expertise) contemporary in style, and Rhiannon Petersen’s lighting design accentuates the loneliness, and then eventually togetherness, of the performance with soft evocative lights and a roving spotlight. The real spark comes when Lauren’s friend, co-performer, and mentor, B (Bernadette Lewis), joins in the dance. Their synchronicity and reciprocity evoke memories of being a teenage girl performing their home-choreographed dance to supportive family members—just with more style and talent than was apparent in my own teenage performances. They seem to be genuinely enjoying themselves, and I have a distinct feeling I would like to join in.

Creating an inclusive, welcoming atmosphere is hard to do. While they have good chemistry, it is hard to forget that Lauren and B’s relationship is one of mentor and mentee. In moments like an improvised game of hand-slapping, the casual nature of the performance feels a little forced, but as an audience we still feel the impetus to support and cheer them on. Everything about the experience is designed to cultivate a sense of togetherness. The forty-five-minute show is perhaps too short to truly succeed in this, but there is a distinct atmosphere of opening ourselves up to the experience and to Lauren’s performance—if not authentically to each other.

A Cure for Loneliness shows that sometimes the first step is simply admitting that you are lonely. Without dwelling on the reasons for this loneliness, Lauren invites the audience to connect with her and feel part of something bigger, and perhaps to pick up a little of her bravery—stepping out of our comfort zones to connect with others.

A Cure For Loneliness