Review: TELL ME YOU’LL THINK ABOUT IT, Hen & Chickens Theatre
Photo credit: Sarah Majland
Tell Me You’ll Think About It follows Phoebe (Lyndsey Ruiz), a sharp-tongued theatre reviewer, and her partner Dave (Boyan Petrov) as they return home from a night watching a modern retelling of Aristophanes’ Lysistrata. What begins as a difference of opinion about the play soon unravels into a deeper examination of their two-year relationship, exposing just how differently they experience life.
Phoebe, an actor-turned-writer stuck in the world of reviewing, still romanticises the theatre life she could have had, while Dave, an easy-going football fan and engineer, has no trouble separating his work from his self-worth. As tensions rise, they are forced to confront their own desires and whether they have a future that can make them both happy.
Written with what feels like an audience of aspiring theatre-makers in mind, the piece feels like a shared existential crisis, but it also manages to resonate beyond the theatre-obsessed bubble. At its core, it’s about the tension between self-indulgent dreams of doing something meaningful in life and the quieter contentment that can come from simply living. The two-handed performance keeps it relatable with Phoebe’s blend of hubris and self-doubt sharply contrasted with Dave’s seemingly simple but contented outlook.
The play explores how honesty, no matter how painful, is necessary to avoid long-term dissatisfaction and resentment and at what point is simply, love, enough. It captures the struggles of young love in one’s late twenties, when it can feel like time is running out, even though, in many ways, life is only just beginning.
The writing leaps between extremes: anger, passion, and grief for what could be lost, and, for the most part, the performances justify these shifts. However, some clunky exposition disrupts the flow, with backstory inserted in ways that feels unnatural. When conversations turn to ‘why they are the way they are’, it’s hard to believe that the pair never discussed their parents or insecurities in detail after two years together, making these moments feel forced rather than organic. At times, they also seem older and more settled than the script suggests and other times very naive, creating a slight disconnect in empathising with their struggles.
This is a youthful, idealistic take on love and commitment showing how complicated it can be. It’s ultimately cathartic not offering new insights, but it does provide a heartfelt window into the characters' inner turmoil, which many will find relatable.
Both performers, Ruiz and Petrov, have a strong presence and a clear connection to the text, making it feel as though they truly know this story. There’s a moment when Phoebe muses on the safety of acting compared to writing, how an actor’s performance is always a question of how much is them and how much is the character, whereas a writer inevitably reveals something of themselves. This adds an extra layer of vulnerability to Ruiz’s performance, given that she is both the writer and actor. Sarah Majland’s direction is clear and makes effective use of the small black-box space, keeping the focus on the raw intimacy of the piece.
The play’s message isn’t particularly profound, but it is earnest: we are all equally hopeful and lost, just in different ways. No one is better or worse for it, the real challenge in a relationship is navigating these differences. While they can bring out the best in each other, they can also quietly shrink each other.
Tell Me You’ll Think About It offers a human reflection on love, compromise, and the fear of losing ourselves in someone else.
*** Three stars
Reviewed by: Stephanie Osztreicher
