Vanessa Sears in Shedding a Skin | Photo by Jeremy Mimnaugh
When we first meet Myah (Vanessa Sears), she is quite literally boxed in. Surrounded on all sides by the grey walls of a claustrophobia-inducing cubicle, she walks us through her final day on the job at a corporate office. She and a handful of non-white employees have been rounded up for a photo in celebration of the company’s diversity initiative—some fake bullshit Myah fully calls them out on in spectacular fashion. A solo riot sees her unleash years of pent-up rage. Glass is shattered. Her patronizing manager is taken down a peg. She looses her job, obviously, and her home as well—she’s not putting up with her hippy-dippy boyfriend either—but this sets her up to gain something far more valuable.
Thus begins Shedding a Skin, presented by Nightwood Theatre in Association with Buddies In Bad Times Theatre.
Myah finds a cheap room in a low-rise complex that houses a close-knit community of immigrants. Her landlord-roommate is an elderly Jamaican woman named Mildred. Their vibe is off at first and Myah remarks on some strange details: why are there no photos or indication of Mildred’s personal history?—but each is willing to give the other a chance. Mildred quickly becomes a maternal figure, putting Myah back in touch with her repressed roots.
Their relationship and vivid characterizations are my favourite aspect of Amanda Wilkin’s play. Each of these women were so very real to me and I fell hard for each of them. On the whole, the production relies heavily on Sears’s ability to channel these very distinct, colourful woman with such conviction. Myah is also inspired and intrigued by an unapologetically assertive workmate named Kimmy—this brash young woman with her glorious Cockney accent and no-nonsense demeanour completes this trio of bold, decisive women.
There are hiccups bother humorous and devastating as Myah and Mildred sand down each other’s rough edges. In a moment of impulsive curiosity, Myah intrudes upon Mildred’s privacy by looking through a long buried photo album. Myah and the audience learn about Mildred’s history as a Civil Rights activist and a heartbreaking personal loss that left her, not cynical, but guarded.
As Myah’s journey towards self-confidence and solidarity with these other Black women unfolds, it is represented in Jung-Hye Kim’s set. Myah pushes against the walls and roof of that oppressive cubicle. The panels open up and join the floating squares onto which projection designer Laura Warren gives us fragmented glimpses into the environments surrounding Myah. This culminates in a exhilarating scene in London’s Piccadilly Circus which also features some viscerally immersive on-stage rain.
One of the nuances I found particularly poignant occurs early on. When leaving the workplace following her violent outburst, she connects briefly with the immigrant custodian who had taken part in the diversity photo-op fiasco. Myah and the audience learn that the situation and motivations involved are more complicated that she at first assumed. It is a humbling moment.
Her story is also poetically juxtaposed with the experiences of other, distant immigrants. Fragments of other stories are narrated in voiceover during thematically integrated scene transitions. As Myah finds herself, these stories transform as she does—the dismal and agonized vignettes gradually give way to inspiring little flashes of progress and connection.
Where Wilkin’s script falters is in its representation of white patriarchy. From thugs on the street to her corporate manager at the office tower, the villainy of these characters feels shallow. While I understand that we aren’t expected to fully sympathize with these antagonists, they should at least have some recognizable humanity. Caricatured monsters can serve thematic purpose in a more escapist format, but they are too easy a target here.
A striking aesthetic aspect of director Cherissa Richards’ production is the subtle, chameleonic versatility of Kim’s set under Shawn Henry’s lighting. The drab grey walls of Myah’s cubicle shift from cool violet to warm amber, depending on the emotional context. This adds dimension to the grey, allowing it to feel more dynamic and lived in. Ming Wong’s giddy green costume allows Myah to pop from this uniform backdrop. By the time we get to the rebellious finale, the imagery, energy and textures have been gradually building to make the sense of raucous, unbridled joy feel earned.
Shedding a Skin
running April 22 to May 4, 2025
Buddies In Bad Times Theatre, Mainspace (12 Alexander Street)
running time: 1 hour, 36 minutes (no intermission)
Vanessa Sears in Shedding a Skin | Photo by Jeremy Mimnaugh