A GORY, UNFORGETTABLE CATHARSIS IN CROCODILE FEVER

By Emma Carney | Bunny Pudding · Digital Coven · @bunnyscopes ⭐⭐⭐⭐ | Press Invite

Meghan Tyler’s Crocodile Fever is a play that doesn’t just demand your attention; it grabs it by the throat, shakes it, and then, just when you think you have its measure, takes a chainsaw to your expectations. This is a work of audacious, brilliant chaos, a play of two distinct halves that journeys from the sublimely tense to the ridiculously, gloriously gory. It’s a wild ride that lingers long after the final blood-spatter has dried, a sign of its successful, unsettling power.

Set in a pristine, oppressively clean South Armagh kitchen in the 1980s, the play begins as a claustrophobic domestic drama. Rachael Rooney is phenomenal as Alannah, a woman whose piety and obsessive scrubbing are a fragile defence against the world outside—a world of British soldiers—and the tyranny within, embodied by her paralysed, sinister father (a menacing Stephen Kennedy). Into this pressure cooker bursts Meghan Tyler’s Fianna, all muddy boots and rebellious fury, shattering the silence and their sister’s sanity by simply existing.

The first half is a masterclass in building tension. Under Mehmet Ergen’s sharp direction, the sisters’ fraught reunion, laced with bitter comedy and fuelled by copious gin, crackles with unspoken history and shared trauma. The dialogue is razor-sharp, and the performances are utterly compelling as we watch these two wounded animals circle each other.

Then, the play pivots. What begins as a gritty, Troubles-era drama erupts into a surreal and visceral horror-comedy. The transition is jarring, taking you from sublime to ridiculous in the best way possible. As the sisters decide to enact revenge on their father, the stage—meticulously designed by Merve Yörük—transforms from a show-home into an abattoir. The violence is over-the-top, darkly hilarious, and deeply cathartic. While some moments in this second act could perhaps be tightened, the sheer, unapologetic force of its execution is breathtaking. It’s a bold theatrical metaphor for the messy, brutal work of confronting a toxic past.

I got a lot from this play. It’s a furious exploration of sisterhood, inherited trauma, and the monstrous nature of patriarchal power. It’s a play that refuses to be neat, much like the process of healing itself. I left with questions, wanting to revisit its symbolism and unpack its chaotic energy—and that is the mark of truly compelling theatre. Crocodile Fever is a unique, unforgettable spectacle, and I’ll certainly be going back to see it again.

A bloody, brilliant, and bold 4 stars.

Crocodile Fever is running at Arcola Theatre until Saturday 22 November.

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Photo Credit: Ikin Yum