REVIEW: Fireface - The Velvet Collective

Fireface

Presented by: The Velvet Collective

Venue: PIP Theatre

Attended: 26 June 2026

Written by: Marius von Mayenburg

Translated by: Maja Zade

Director: Nic Davidson

Stage Manager: Ursula Heesh

Composer and Sound Designer: Hannah Page

Lighting and Vision Designer: Teddy Waddingham

Set and Costume Designer: Harrison Thorne

Graphic Designer: Lucille Bennett

Intimacy Coordinator: Cindy Ambridge

“Those who don’t eat get eaten. Those who don’t burn, get burned.”

There are dysfunctional families, and then there is the family at the centre of Fireface... Every warning sign is blinking red, the teenagers are building Molotov cocktails, and somehow nobody thinks, “Perhaps we should intervene immediately.”

Written by Marius von Mayenburg and translated by Maja Zade, Fireface follows siblings Kurt and Olga, two teens who are dreading growing up and becoming like their parents. Their unhealthy co-dependence grows more dangerous when Olga begins a relationship with Paul, an outsider carrying his own bruises from home. This is not a gentle family drama. This one’s got incest, sexual trauma, violence, arson, neglect, and several more choices that had me internally yelling, “Can someone please be the adult here?!” Spoiler alert: no one steps up to the plate.

Harrison Thorne’s set places the family inside a sparse home. With just a bed, a dining table, a TV, and some dividing walls for good measure, it’s like a starter kit for suburban living. It’s familiar enough to recognise, but there is little warmth or privacy. Teddy Waddingham’s lighting and vision design makes the space even more uneasy. A TV monitor works like a nosy neighbour peeking through the blinds. The characters are constantly visible, yet rarely understood. The digital window, with its lone tree outside, is another clever touch. Hannah Page’s composition and sound design builds the tension steadily. By the final scenes, the lighting, video, and sound turn the home into a domestic hellscape.

Mayenburg’s script is made up of short fragments, with scenes beginning and ending before the audience has time to settle. Characters step out of the action to share memories, thoughts, and strange pieces of narration. Some of these asides were intriguing, while others remained difficult to follow. The rapid shifts also meant that a few emotional moments passed before they could fully land. The early performances had some stiffness too, where several exchanges and arguments sounded recited. As things became more dangerous, though, the acting stepped up a notch.

Logan So gives the standout performance as Kurt. You can spot his isolation right from the start through his statue-like stillness, thousand-yard stare, and habit of drifting away from the people around him. His fascination with bombs, fire, and violence is unnerving because he often discusses destruction with the passion of someone describing a hobby. As Kurt’s mental health deteriorates, he becomes increasingly detached and eventually almost non-verbal. The line, “His mind had closed off. The shutter had come down,” suits So’s performance perfectly. He draws Kurt inward until the eventual violence seems like the result of every warning being ignored.

Ava Ryan takes on the difficult role of Olga, a character who cries, provokes, controls, and eventually attempts to escape the relationship messes she created. Her incestuous bond with Kurt is intentionally unsettling to witness and designed to make you squirm. Cindy Ambridge’s intimacy coordination allows the production to depict that relationship clearly without dwelling on it unnecessarily. Olga initiates the sexual contact, while Kurt does not resist, leaving both siblings trapped in a relationship where affection, sexuality, and childhood have become tangled together. Ryan captures Olga’s volatility and fear of abandonment, and she embraces the ugliness of the role.

Adam Dobson brings a welcome naturalism to Paul. At first glance, he seems like the average Joe boyfriend stumbling into this unusual household. It turns out he’s sticking around because his own father is violent, and this family offers him shelter. Dobson and So create one of the production’s most convincing conflicts. Paul and Kurt come across like two emotionally numb young men who see a bit of themselves in each other, even as Olga stands between them. Their scenes had a natural flow that some of the family exchanges lacked, and their physical tussle was handled convincingly.

Amy Chien-Yu Wang as the Mother worries about her children’s increasingly alarming behaviour, yet never seems able to do anything useful about it. Her exhausted line, “Don’t even try, I’ve given up,” was darkly funny and appalling under the circumstances. Christopher Farrell as the Father retreats behind his newspaper and stories about serial killers (probably hoping the news about serial killers will make his parenting seem top-notch by comparison). They have different parenting styles, but neither offers the children any real stability.

It’s like the parents and kids are living on different planets. The teenagers show little affection towards their parents, while the adults become increasingly frightened of the people they raised. Every warning is dismissed as puberty, temperament, or difficult teenage behaviour. Kurt becomes fixated on weapons, kills animals, builds explosives, commits arson, and withdraws from speech before anyone takes meaningful action.

Director Nic Davidson keeps the pace sharp and uses the space well. His blocking often places the family close together while making their emotional distance obvious. The play does not excuse Kurt and Olga, but it does ask how they reached this point. Angry, lonely, and frightened of growing up, they drink, insult one another, dissociate, and chase destruction simply to feel something. Once their behaviour becomes calculated and murderous, there is no redemption. The question hanging over the play is how many cries for help can be ignored before tragedy stops being unexpected. Its abrupt ending suits the story. There is no recovery, final lesson, or indication that anyone has learned from the catastrophe. It simply reaches the end of its destructive path and stops.

I have never seen a drama quite like Fireface. It was confronting, unpleasant by design, and increasingly gripping as the family spiralled towards catastrophe. Fireface is a play about teenagers setting fires while every adult nearby complains about the smoke. By the time someone finally acknowledges the flames, there is very little left to save.