Written by Liam Arnold for Theatre & Tonic

Disclaimer: Gifted tickets in exchange for an honest review

There are plenty of words that come to mind when trying to describe an Accident / a Life, the new piece by Marc Brew in collaboration with Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui. “Brave” is the one most people would probably reach for first — and while it’s not wrong, it also feels a bit too easy. This work is doing something far more complex than just retelling a personal tragedy. It’s thoughtful, carefully structured, and artistically bold.

The show tells the story of a car accident that changed Brew’s life forever — one that killed three of his friends and left him paralysed at the age of 20. But it’s not framed as a story of triumph over adversity or some inspirational journey. It’s quieter and more considered than that. What we get instead is a piece of dance-theatre that’s unsettling, unsentimental, and full of smart creative decisions that draw you in rather than pushing you to feel a certain way.

The set is minimal but extremely effective. There’s a car suspended above the stage, two video screens showing live footage, and a sofa that becomes a sort of all-purpose object. At one point it’s a hospital bed; at another, a bathtub. Brew begins the piece in a crash test dummy costume, crawling across the stage to re-enact the crash itself. It’s done with a kind of stripped-back precision that makes it all the more disturbing.

From there, the story unfolds in fragments — hospital scenes, rehab, memories, plane journeys — all told in Brew’s calm, almost neutral voice. He doesn’t perform emotion in a conventional sense, and that might be surprising to some. But that distance is part of what makes it so powerful. It feels like someone who’s had to tell this story many times, and who now needs to do it differently — with movement, staging, and design doing the heavy lifting.

The whole piece feels tight, controlled, and very well thought through. The live video work is especially strong — it’s not just there for effect. Two masked performers operate the cameras and help move the set, but they also take on shifting roles in the story: maybe carers, maybe figures from Brew’s memory, maybe both. Their presence gives the piece a sense of quiet support, as if reminding us that no one survives trauma alone.

There are moments that really stick with you — like Brew folding his paralysed legs into twisted shapes that aren’t trying to be beautiful or shocking, just real. There’s a physical honesty to everything he does that’s quite rare. The movement isn’t flashy, but it’s incredibly focused, and you feel like every gesture has meaning.

The car hanging overhead becomes more than just a prop. Sometimes it feels like a threat. At other points, it’s repurposed — its bonnet becomes an alphabet board in a scene about relearning how to communicate. Everything on stage is doing work. Nothing feels wasted.

And while the tone is often serious, there are small moments of humour and weirdness that break things up in just the right way. Brew sings. He plays with props. It gives the piece a human touch that stops it from becoming too heavy. The final image — with Brew suspended above the stage, looking down at us — flips the whole dynamic. We’ve spent the show watching him. Now he’s watching us. It’s subtle, but it lands.

There are some small things that could be tighter — a few moments where the spoken text feels a bit too slow, or where the shifts between speech and movement don’t quite flow. But overall, this is a smart, moving piece of work that stays with you.

an Accident / a Life isn’t trying to be uplifting or inspirational in the usual sense. It’s more interested in asking how we carry the things that happen to us — and how we can express that without smoothing over the rough edges. Brew isn’t asking for pity or praise. He’s asking to be seen clearly — not just for what he lost, but for what he’s made from it.

Marc tells a powerful story with honesty and precision.

an Accident/ a Life will be playing at Sadler's Wells East until 27th September.

★★★★★

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