Driver’s Seat 

Reviewed by Julia Lloyd-George
Theatre 68 Arts Complex
Through November 13

In 2022, the one-woman show is now a theatrical phenomenon well-trodden enough to produce a successful satire literally called One-Woman Show by Liz Kingsman. While I haven’t seen this particular show yet (it looks hilarious), I thought a lot about this trend while absorbing Driver’s Seat by Ellie Brelis.

Of course, the most famous example of the genre is, the brilliant, frankly inimitable Fleabag by Phoebe Waller-Bridge. That promiscuous, self-destructive, yet lovably wry and magnetic character became so iconic that she inspired a rash of imitators, mostly at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival where Waller-Bridge’s show originated. Wrapping the story of a young woman’s grief in defensive layers of jokes is often the strategy many of those imitators have also taken, although Fleabag leaves impossibly large shoes to fill.

Brelis seems influenced by this tradition in her own one-woman show but differentiates it from the pack of comedians across the pond by diving far more into the serious side of her autobiographical story than its comic one; after all, this is a monologue about OCD, heartbreak, grief and a stay in a psychiatric hospital after thoughts of suicide. You can’t help but have a lot of respect for Brelis after she bares so much of her most vulnerable life experiences on stage and doesn’t put up the front of fictionalization; it’s an impressively brave thing to do, especially for someone as young as she is. OCD, in particular, is a mental health issue that hasn’t received nearly enough media representation; too often, people associate it with excessive handwashing or overly zealous cleaning. Brelis performs a great service by educating the audience about the darker side of the disorder, which can involve disturbing, intrusive thoughts.

There are some truly moving moments, most notably when she talks about her love for a family member who died during the pandemic and plays a heart wrenching voicemail from him. Right then, it felt like she was maximizing every dramatic element available to her: sound, projected photos, and the rich, specific details of her own memories. Another notable, deeply personal scene was Brelis’s recounting of the time in her life right before she checks into a psychiatric hospital; it’s incredibly poignant to see her meticulously walk the audience through what I imagine must have been the lowest moment of her life.

However, these examples proved to be the highlights of a show that more often relied on generalities; too much of the monologue felt like an essay spoken aloud instead of a living, breathing piece of performance. “Show, don’t tell” is the world’s most tired criticism, but Driver’s Seat could have benefited from more scenes like those above instead of neat summaries of Brelis’s feelings and the lessons she learned. While saying that a particular time or relationship was significant gets across the message that it was, it’s never as powerful as feeling like you’re in the speaker’s shoes. Many of the efforts at dark comedy also felt strained; the attempts at “crazy ex-girlfriend” humor seemed more frightening than funny.

There’s truly so much pressure for solo performers to have the charisma needed to carry an entire show; unfortunately, Brelis does not always deliver in this regard. Still, she clearly has the grit and willpower to tell meaningful stories and I’m sure she will have a lot more to offer in the future.

Theatre 68 Arts Complex, Emerson Theatre, 5112 Lankershim Blvd., North Hollywood; Fri.-Sat., 8pm; Sun., 3pm; thru Nov. 13. onstage411.com; Running time is one hour with no intermission; Masks are required.