Critical Corner: Speed is Emotional

In this edition of Critical Corner, a review of Speed is Emotional, the new show presented by Silo Theatre in collaboration with Barbarian Productions.

The words that immediately come to mind for Speed is Emotional are “soft” and “fast”. The title does a fair bit of the prodding towards those two words, but this new show, written and performed by Jo Randerson, takes me the rest of the way.

The show, not quite a solo but not quite an ensemble piece either, has Randerson front and centre. The elevator pitch of this show, which is nearly impossible to do, would sum it up as being about their experience being diagnosed with ADHD in their 40s. The show itself is a sprawling mess (complimentary) of a thing, a journey throughout Randerson’s life as human, artist, and parent, with ADHD being the algebraic x that made sense of why they are the way they are.

While the show does a fair bit of educating around ADHD and what it might mean to live with it, this isn’t edutainment or simply raising awareness (that amorphous, nebulous phrase). No, it is Randerson flinging the curtain wide open. While I’ve long been a fan of Randerson’s fiction, Banging Cymbal Clanging Gong is one of the seminal New Zealand plays, Speed is Emotional is no less moving, or less formally audacious than their previous work.

The show seems to follow a very loose structure – hence the “soft” – but on reflection, I believe it is meticulously structured. The highs and lows, the parts Randerson dips out to banter and scold accompanist and sound designer Elliot Vaughan, the musical interludes are all integral to the show working. Take any part of it away and the entire thing falls apart. More crucially: it becomes less authentic. This is a dive into Randerson’s brain, and what it feels like to live as Randerson does. 

Randerson is a singular performer and artist; they’re your favourite theatremaker’s favourite theatremaker. Any chance to see them onstage is a massive treat. Here Randerson barely puts on a character (although they do put on a divine costume from Steven Junil Park), and feels fully and truly themselves. They don’t beg for a laugh, the audience laughs because they’re funny. They don’t have to ingratiate themselves to the audience, the audience loves the because they’re authentically themselves. And maybe the most authentic version of Randerson is the Randerson that wears a tunic that could also be a cape that could also be a kimono, and also has a smattering of clown makeup on.

On the night I went – blessedly free of that tortured mix of opening night hype and toxically high expectations – it was, put bluntly, a paying audience. To see them experience Randerson, and to fall in love with them as theatre people have been for ages, was as much of a delight as the show was.

Speed is Emotional isn’t a clean show, but ADHD isn’t a clean illness (is there a clean illness?). Randerson moves through the 90 minutes at such a pace that it feels much closer to an hour, and it’s in this haste that we can truly understand the way they experience the world. It ping pongs around topics – family, work, gender dynamics – as freely as Randerson rolls around underneath the stunning rainbow tarpaulin that serves as the show’s set. If you’re looking for “good”, fourth-wall, three-act structure theatre, this is not the show.

Most importantly, and crucially, Speed is Emotional is not a show that frames an audience out. Instead, it brings them in. I don’t have ADHD, as far as I know, but I feel that by understanding it, and Randerson, a little more, I understand the world a little bit better. Selfishly, as a fan, it frames all of their work through a fascinating new lens. As a person living in the world, it gives me a better sense of many of my friend’s brains and how they experience the world. Some might think of that as being sentimental, and frankly, it is. But sentiment delivered this beautifully, with this much care, is about as rich as it gets.

Speed is Emotional runs at Q Theatre until May 3.

Other Things I’ve Consumed

I’ve been teaching the youths of New Zealand how to write plays in Havelock North as part of the National Youth Drama School (waitlist is open for 2026!), so I haven’t actually done a whole lot but yesterday I read Anthony Oliveira’s brilliant, infuriating, heartbreaking, high-falutin’ novel-essay-book-of-poems Dayspring, which is a queer retelling of the Bible, sort of. I can’t really describe it, but if you fall into the categories of ex-Catholic, queer, or queer ex-Catholic, I highly recommend giving it at least a try.

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