Chickadee at Riverside Studios Review

Written by Paris for Theatre & Tonic

Disclaimer: Gifted tickets in exchange for an honest review

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The premise of Chickadee is rich with potential, and I was genuinely excited to catch it at Riverside Studios. A one-woman show about a female street clown who finds purpose in making others laugh, only to be swept up by the viral tide of oversexualised fame. This is a story that hits close to home for anyone who has ever struggled to balance artistic integrity with external pressure. It speaks to the tension between staying true to your creative vision and compromising to survive within an industry built on appearances. But unfortunately, some heavy-handed direction and overly didactic writing weigh down what could have been a moving and vibrant experience.

The show is the creation of Feride Morçay, who also stars as Dahlia, a clown-turned- reluctant-icon known as “Chickadee the Sexy Clown.” Under the direction of Aishwarya Gaikwad and co-produced by Roxane Cabassut, the story takes us from Dahlia’s chaotic dressing room to the brightly lit stage of viral fame. Through flashbacks and direct conversations with her own soul, we’re drawn into Dahlia’s psyche - into her childhood, her artistic dream, and her slow unraveling.

Morçay’s performance is undoubtedly the best part of the show. Magnetising, vulnerable, and fully committed, she moves with ease between humour and heartbreak, embodying Dahlia’s fragility and strength. She holds the performance on her shoulders and manages to create a deeply human character with whom it’s easy to identify. The set and lighting, designed by Zidi Wu, complement the narrative beautifully. Cluttered costume racks, shiny accessories, and vivid lighting create a strong contrast between the glamour of performance and the inner turmoil Dahlia faces when the curtains close. This works well and fortifies the narrative without relying on unnecessary dialogue.

Some of the writing shines, particularly in its portrayal of Dahlia’s childhood and her dreams of making people laugh. Her desire to connect and uplift, even through the oddity of clowning, brings a sincerity that anchors the show. There is a certain naivety in the portrayal that serves the character well, contrasting sharply with the pressures she faces from the external world, a world eager to distort authenticity into something more marketable.

However, the show falters in its direction. While Dahlia encourages us to embrace our messiness and freedom, the performance itself feels overly rigid. One of the greatest assets of solo performances is the performer’s ability to play, to flow, and to directly engage with the audience in real time. But here, everything feels tightly cued and choreographed, with lights snapping off for changes and scenes cut before they can fully land. Instead of creating freedom, the direction creates structure so strict it occasionally suffocates the emotional rhythm of the piece.

Similarly, the writing at times leans too heavily into moralising. It spells out its messages rather than allowing space for the audience to interpret. The binary it draws between modesty and oversexualisation risks sounding conservative or even arrogant rather than nuanced. While its critique of the male gaze and viral media is valid, the portrayal often lacks the complexity and self-awareness such a topic deserves. It tries to outline what is right and wrong too definitively, and in doing so flattens what could be a richer, more layered conversation.

Still, the show’s heart is in the right place. Despite its structural missteps, Chickadee is full of sincerity. It wants to speak honestly about what it means to be vulnerable, to seek connection, to resist being packaged and sold as a product. And when it focuses on those moments, especially through Morçay’s powerful presence, it becomes something genuinely sweet and resonant. For anyone curious about the inner war between soul and ego, or the cost of being seen on someone else’s terms, Chickadee offers a touching invitation to dare, if just for an hour, to be a fool.

At Riverside Studios until 13 July 2025

★★★.5