The first act is ending—

what will happen?
will the lovers get back together?
is that one dead?

Who cares, it’s the interval.

An usher steps out before us. A tray of ice creams strapped around their neck. They’re struggling to get rid of them. They’re a rip-off. This gig is a joke.

Anyway, this isn’t their real job.

The usher unravels the tale of their precarious scurrying between jobs, job centre and blank screen where they’re writing their future (masterpiece). As the interval bell sounds again and again, they also scurry over to a bar stocked with pre-ordered G&Ts*, and just – well – unravel.

Pure Froth is an explosion of sticky truths, shattered dreams and crumpled bills. A darkly comic reflection on the scramble for self-esteem, the weight of expectation, and that gnawing fear that you’re one meltdown away from joining the usher, in the spotlight, at a bar you’re not even supposed to be working at.

But hey, at least we can laugh about it, right?