“LIKE GROOMING ITSELF, THE PLAY DOESN’T ARRIVE AT ONCE. IT INCHES FORWARD, PATIENTLY GAINING OUR TRUST BEFORE TIGHTENING ITS GRIP”

By Charlotte Mason-Mottram | Mason-Mottram ⭐⭐⭐⭐ | Press Invite

Firebird, written by Phil Davies and revived by Marlie Haco for Double Telling at Southwark Playhouse (Borough), is not an easy watch. Nor should it be. Ten years after its acclaimed West End transfer, this striking revival feels painfully prevalent, exposing the brutal realities of child sexual exploitation with a production that is as much an awareness campaign as it is a piece of theatre.

If Run, Sister, Run demonstrated Double Telling’s gift for finding humanity within fractured relationships, Firebird applies that same emotional precision to an altogether darker subject. Once again, Haco trusts movement, silence, and physical storytelling as much as dialogue, creating a production that doesn’t simply tell us about trauma — it makes us feel it.

The opening is deceptively ordinary. Two teenage girls bicker over what game to play, their exchanges almost feeling overly scripted and a little amateur at times. Whether intentional or not, it lulls the audience into a false sense of security before slowly revealing the horrors hidden beneath the surface. Like grooming itself, the play doesn’t arrive all at once. It inches forward, patiently gaining our trust before tightening its grip.

Mollie Milne is extraordinary as Tia. Her performance extends far beyond the script; the trembling mouth, involuntary shaking, retching, and sobbing communicate things language simply cannot. The play never needs to say the word r*pe; the audience understands entirely what Tia has been through via physical appearances and demonstrations. It is one of the most devastating portrayals of trauma I’ve seen on stage.

Equally compelling is AJ, whose manipulation extends beyond Tia to the audience themselves. Charming, attentive, and disarmingly persuasive, there were moments when I caught myself wondering whether Tia was the problem — especially given that she uses an unforgivable slur towards Mushy, The Kebab Shop owner. It’s an uncomfortable realisation, but an entirely intentional one. Firebird demonstrates just how easily coercive control distorts perception.

Tomás Palmer’s stripped-back set, Ben Jacobs’ haunting lighting and Ákos Lustyik’s unsettling score combine to create an atmosphere of constant unease. Whispered voices drift through the theatre, violence erupts without warning, and moments of stillness become almost unbearable. At times, the pacing loses momentum — particularly during an extended police interview scene, where I found myself wishing the production had explored the wider failures of the justice system in a more dynamic way. Yet even this arguably reflects the fact that too many vulnerable young people experience bureaucracy before empathy.

There were a handful of technical difficulties during the performance, but the professionalism of both cast and crew was remarkable. Improvisation kept the story moving almost seamlessly, earning applause from the audience.

The ending may frustrate those hoping for justice. AJ’s reckoning never quite arrives in the way many might wish. Instead, Firebird places its faith in friendship. Katie’s determination to carry Tia — literally and emotionally — towards safety offers a fragile glimmer of light and hope after ninety minutes of darkness.

Looking around the room during the final moments, shoulders had visibly tightened, hands covered mouths, and people sat shaken. Firebird asks us to do more than sympathise with vulnerable children; it asks us to understand how they become vulnerable in the first place. In doing so, it challenges our instinct to judge the loud, “horrible” teenager before asking what happened to make her that way.

Firebird is running at Southwark Playhouse Borough until Saturday 1 August.

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