SHIT is a theatrical piece about three women have had the shit kicked out of them in every way possible. They may not be bruised on the outside, but they’re certainly all black and blue on the inside. And the trio are anything but classy.
Billy sports a sleeveless vest and crusted blonde hair, Sam wears an oversize shirt to hide her bony frame, and Bobby rocks the tracky dacks. Their vocabulary doesn’t extend much further than ‘fuck’ or ‘cunt,’ they make crude jokes, take personal digs at each other, and shout over one another just to give their five cents’ worth of thought.
But beneath the crassness and tough façade, all these women really want is for someone to lean on. Banded together through their shared experiences, the friends act as each other’s shoulder of support as they explore their dark and repressed histories. Even so, they’re quick to gang up on each other at the slightest show of vulnerability.
‘I want good things in life,’ says Sam, imagining a day when she can be free from a life of hurt.
‘What right do you have?’ says Billy, cutting down her friend.
For the group of misfits, dreaming does nobody any good. And as a result, neither Billy, nor Bobby, nor Sam quite understand their true value as human beings.
Sam mentions a friend who has a noticeable bald spot on the top of her head — that was where her abusive partner ripped out a clump of her hair. ‘I’ve had that happen to me,’ says Billy as if shrugging off the matter. ‘It’ll grow back.’
The dialogue is raw, the themes are confronting, the humour is bitter and dark, and the characters show no sign of transcendence. As an audience member all I can do is feel sorry as I watch the three lowlifes live in their world of shit.
Freelance journalist — because if nobody else is going to employ him, he’ll employ himself.