Single White Female - Theatre Royal, Nottingham - Review

★★★☆☆

Rebecca Reid’s stage adaptation of the 1992 psychological thriller, Single White Female, opens its UK tour at Nottingham Theatre Royal. Repackaged for a hyper-connected world, one of curated identities, digital footprints, and domestic life spoiled by social media. It’s slick, unsettling, and often gripping, even if it occasionally tries a little too hard to prove just how modern it is. The question, then, isn’t whether this revival is relevant, but whether it still knows how to make us feel properly uncomfortable.

Kym Marsh (Hedy) and Lisa Faulkner (Allie) - Photo credit: Chris Bishop

The play follows Allie, a recently divorced mother juggling single parenthood with the launch of a tech start-up. Financial pressure and emotional exhaustion lead her to advertise for a lodger, and in steps Hedy: warm, attentive, and seemingly the perfect solution to Allie’s list of problems. As the two women grow closer, boundaries blur, and identities begin to merge, until admiration tips into obsession. What begins as companionship slowly tightens into a psychological vice, exposing the fragile line between connection and control, and asking how well any of us really know the people we let into our lives.

For the most part, this production understands the quiet menace at the heart of the story. Director Gordon Greenberg leans into atmosphere rather than shock, allowing tension to accumulate through domestic detail and interpersonal shifts rather than big theatrical gestures. Thankfully, there are no garish jump scares. When the play is working well, it has a pleasing “fly-on-the-wall” quality, as if the audience has wandered into a flat where something feels slightly off but no one can quite articulate why. It’s a choice that suits the material, grounding the thriller elements in recognisable, everyday behaviour.

Where the adaptation occasionally stumbles is in its determination to loudly announce its modernity. References to AI, FaceTune, vaping, Grindr, and the like are sprinkled liberally throughout, sometimes to the point of distraction. Updating the story for a contemporary audience is absolutely the right instinct, and has been done brilliantly by Rebecca Reid, but naming every modern gadget or trend doesn’t in any way deepen the drama. In fact, some of these references feel oddly redundant; we don’t need a shopping list of apps to understand betrayal, nor does every cigarette need to be replaced with a vape to signal that this is happening now. The story is strongest when it trusts its themes rather than its buzzwords.

Jonny McGarrity (Sam) and Kym Marsh (Hedy) - Photo Credit: Chris Bishop

At the centre of the production is Kim Marsh, who plays Hedy with a cool, controlled confidence that proves quietly compelling. Marsh’s performance feels like a darkly warped extension of her public persona: warm, capable, and reassuring on the surface, with something harder glinting underneath. It’s an effective choice, making Hedy oddly likeable even as her behaviour grows increasingly intrusive. Marsh never overplays the menace; instead, it creeps in through small shifts in tone and behaviours. The result is a character who feels plausible, unsettling, and frustratingly easy to excuse, right up until it’s too late.

Lisa Faulkner, as Allie, offers a far more restrained performance. Returning to the stage after a long absence, Faulkner captures the exhaustion and low-level anxiety of a woman stretched too thin. However, this restraint sometimes works against her. Allie’s emotional extremes — fear, grief, fury — often arrive at the same register, meaning moments that should crackle with intensity feel muted. There are flashes where Faulkner allows herself to get lost in the scene, and those moments are genuinely engaging; you sense there is more available here than we’re being shown.

One of the production’s real joys comes from Amy Snudden, who plays Allie’s teenage daughter, Bella. On the page, Bella risks being written as a stereotype: prickly, online-obsessed, and perpetually dissatisfied. Snudden transcends that with a performance full of specificity and wit. She finds humour in Bella’s whining and depth in her vulnerability, navigating the shift from domestic realism in Act One to explosive emotional territory in Act Two with impressive control. It’s a performance that grounds the stakes of the story and reminds us exactly what Allie stands to lose.

Amy Snudden (Bella) and Lisa Faulkner (Allie) - Photo Credit: Chris Bishop

The supporting cast adds texture and balance. Andro is particularly effective as Graham, Allie’s best friend and business partner, providing warmth and lightness without ever derailing the narrative. His comic timing is excellent, delivering some of the show’s strongest punchlines with an ease that keeps the tension from becoming oppressive. That said, the reveal involving a gun at the end of Act One feels more hammy than harrowing, one of the many moments that edges into camp when it should raise the temperature. Jonny McGarrity also makes a solid impression as Sam, Allie’s ex-husband, bringing nuance to a role that could easily have slipped into cliché.

Visually, the production is striking. Morgan Large’s open-plan apartment set is sleek and flexible, yet everything on show is there for a reason; it is a living example of Chekoff’s gun. Jason Taylor’s lighting design is a standout: LED strips framing the stage guide us through frequent blackouts while subtly signalling emotional shifts, sometimes offering misdirection as much as clarity. The contrast between the heightened lighting and the otherwise naturalistic performances creates a pleasing tension, reinforcing the sense that something beneath the surface is being carefully manipulated.

The production also cleverly uses flashbacks, with characters stepping forward to relive moments from the past. These scenes are woven neatly into the narrative, punctuating the action at exactly the right moments. While they briefly disrupt the naturalistic style, they add clarity and momentum, ensuring the story never stalls under the weight of its own exposition.

List Faulkner (Allie) and Kym Marsh (Hedy) - Photo Credit: Chris Bishop

Sound, however, is more of a mixed bag. Max Pappenheim’s compositions during scenes support the narrative effectively, but the volume of sound effects and music between scenes often overwhelms what follows. Unamplified dialogue immediately after a loud transition felt oddly distant, forcing the audience to recalibrate just as important information is being delivered. It’s a technical issue rather than a conceptual one, but it does create unnecessary barriers to engagement.

The same could be said for the staging of the play’s violent moments. The fight scenes are so blatantly choreographed that they become conspicuously artificial, prompting laughter where gasps are intended. Rather than heightening the threat, these moments undercut it, tipping into camp at precisely the wrong time. A looser, messier approach would allow the danger to feel real rather than rehearsed.

Despite these kinks, Single White Female remains an absorbing night at the theatre. The tension may not reach Hitchcockian heights, but there is a persistent low-grade unease that keeps you watching closely. The production is at its best when it explores Hedy’s obsession in a world defined by loneliness, surveillance, and the performance of self. It doesn’t always stick the landing, but it asks interesting questions along the way.

Ultimately, this is a solid, engaging adaptation that rewards attention and deserves an audience. With a commanding central performance from Kim Marsh, a star-making turn from Amy Snudden, and a design team working at a high level, Single White Female offers a tense, thought-provoking evening that will only sharpen as the tour continues. If you’re looking for a psychological drama that’s slick, unsettling, and quietly entertaining, this is well worth seeing… imperfections and all.