Outpatient – Park Theatre, London
A sharp, darkly funny solo show about illness, ego and what it means to be alive, Outpatient is unexpectedly life-affirming.
Outpatient
It’s not quite “theme of the week,” a game we sometimes play here at the Salterton Arts Review, but it is interesting to have seen two shows in quick succession about young women navigating a diagnosis. First we saw Dear Annie, I Hate You at Riverside Studios, where a charismatic aneurysm took to the stage alongside its host. And now, at Park Theatre, Harriet Madeley brings us Outpatient, the story of Olive, her fictionalised self, whose own body quietly declares war. Is my own recent experience with diagnosis drawing me to these works? Or do I just notice these programming patterns more keenly because of it? Difficult to say. The good news is, you don’t need a personal connection to enjoy either play.
The culprit in Outpatient is primary sclerosing cholangitis (PSC), a chronic illness that causes the bile ducts in the liver to narrow. Olive discovers she has it almost by accident. She’s trying to blag her way into the palliative care ward to interview people for an article about dying. But it quickly becomes a bit too real, as she first shrugs off the diagnosis, then becomes consumed by it.
Madeley has a real knack for wit and observational humour. Her character is self-deceiving, self-sabotaging, and painfully funny. The other characters are all offstage voices, which keeps the piece firmly a one-woman show while allowing the world around Olive to form. Her parents, her doctors, an insufferable friend: they’re all there in her ears, but she’s never quite listening. That space between what Olive hears and how she responds is one of the play’s most effective tools.
A Treadmill, a Swiss Ball, and a Diagnosis
The staging is incredibly simple: a Swiss ball and a small treadmill, and lighting and projections designed by Megan Lucas. But Madeley conjures homes, hospitals, and even the London Marathon with ease. Director Madelaine Moore gives the piece a pace that lets the humour land, but also allows the deeper emotional notes to settle. Nothing feels rushed, but nothing drags.
Again, I didn’t expect to laugh so much in a play about a life-limiting condition. These playwright-performers really do have a knack for dark and dry humour. And a strong sense of craft. There’s a lot here to consider about ego, coping mechanisms, and how self-protection can get in the way of human connection. Death really is the one unifying experience we’re all going to have: Outpatient finds plenty of ways to explore what that means for the living.
There’s excellent variety in the writing. At one point Olive is reflecting: “They say you can’t do anything about the length of your life, only its depth. But if you can literally change how your brain perceives time / Maybe you can do the length as well.” Soon afterwards: “She’s really crying now. I poo in that box to make her feel better.” It shouldn’t work, but it does.
This is a thoughtful and quietly bold piece. The diagnosis may be rare, but the emotions it unpacks are not. Outpatient won’t cure you, but it might help you feel a little more human.
Salterton Arts Review’s rating: 4/5
Outpatient on until 7 June 2025. More info and tickets here.