Stop Kiss - 7.5 out of 10 stars
Theatre Guild Student Society
Tickets here: STOP KISS TICKETS
Playing at the Little Theatre for two more nights, Stop
Kiss, directed by Josh Manoa, confronts a theme that, regrettably, remains
all too relevant in 2025: homophobia.
Written in 1998 by American playwright Diana Son, Stop
Kiss remains a poignant reflection on the fragility of intimacy in an
intolerant world. The play’s non-linear structure intercuts between
"before" and "after" a violent attack against two women. The
continuous scene changes sometimes fragment momentum. The pacing stretches
beyond the advertised 100 minutes, closer to two hours, and the absence of an
interval leaves little space for the audience to process the emotional weight
of the unfolding story. An intermission might have allowed a moment’s breath,
particularly in a production so emotionally charged.
The play follows Callie, a New York traffic reporter adrift
in comfortable mediocrity. Esther Burnett captures Callie’s hesitancy and
internal conflict with quiet finesse. Her early moments on stage feel
tentative, yet as the story deepens, Burnett’s performance blossoms into
something rich and resonant — especially in Callie’s gut-wrenching recollection
of the assault. Burnett’s Callie embodies the painful contradiction of love and
fear, reminding us that personal growth often emerges through tragedy.
Elizabeth “Ellie” Lijo’s Sara, by contrast, brims with
openness and sincerity. Newly arrived from St. Louis to teach in a Bronx public
school, Sara represents hope — restless, idealistic, and unguarded. Lijo
commands the audience’s attention not through grand gestures but through an
authenticity that feels almost effortless. Her Sara radiates an optimism that
cuts through the darkness of the play. Though the sound mix obscured her early
lines, Lijo soon found even footing, delivering moments of genuine joy and
heartbreak in equal measure. Her scenes opposite Burnett carry gentle tension;
each glance and hesitation feels truthful, delicately capturing the wonder of
discovering new affection.
Together, Burnett and Lijo craft an expressive and believable rapport. Their chemistry is convincing yet refreshingly understated, reflecting the awkward charm of early romance. Their scenes together pulse with genuine warmth, making the violence that later intrudes jarring. Every brush of contact carries meaning. Despite the absence of an intimacy coordinator credit, their moments of physical closeness feel thoughtful and safe — the product of robust collaboration and careful direction.
Supporting this central duo, Jalen Berry’s George — Callie’s
complicated, on–again, off–again boyfriend — provides grounded contrast. Berry
plays George with restraint, acknowledging his privilege and confusion without
tipping into caricature. It’s a commendable performance from a freshman actor
who clearly understands the text’s emotional layers.
Liam Warmeant’s Peter, Sara’s ex-boyfriend, delivers
controlled intensity. His portrayal edges toward menace; Peter isn’t a villain
in the traditional sense, but an emblem of the suffocating past Sara desires to
outgrow. Warmeant’s clipped tone and insistent presence make him an effective
foil, setting the stage for the independence Sara seeks to claim.
As Detective Cole, Ashraf Abdul Halim captures the abrasive
cynicism of a police officer too jaded to recognise a hate crime for what it
is, a portrayal reminiscent of the detective noir archetype.
Zoe Russell-von Bujdoss takes on dual roles as Nurse and
Mrs. Winsley. Being able to switch between the warmth and quiet compassion of
the Nurse, and Mrs. Winsley’s nosy concern and wary detachment showcases great dramatic
timing. The Nurse’s adds the needed reprieve from tension, while Mrs. Winsley’s
adds dimension to the play’s depiction of New York’s messy, intersecting
communities. Russell-von Bujdoss’s attention to physicality differentiates her
characters cleanly, reinforcing how even small roles contribute meaningfully to
the story’s fabric.
In their directorial debut, Josh Manoa demonstrates a blend
of sensitivity and ambition. Their decision to lean into the non-chronological
structure, reveals confidence in the text’s emotional rhythm. The result
demands active engagement from the audience, urging them to piece together
cause and consequence, love and injury, in tandem with the characters.
The production’s design work complements this tonal
precision beautifully. Jarrod Matulick’s sound design and original composition
forms the emotional backbone. A busy, layered soundscape evokes the constant
hum of New York— distant sounds, passing traffic, the muffled buzz of
late-night pedestrians. These auditory textures anchor each scene in place and
time. Matulick’s live keyboard underscoring during scene transitions keeps the
audience tuned in while the backstage crew move about as swiftly as possible. The
moment within the opening scene regarding the jazz motif was sly and
self-aware, drawing a thread of dark humour through the performance, only
amplified by the mention and introduction of the saxophone in the track.
The highlight arrives in the form of an original song, written and sung by Katie Wicker with performances by Macey Lawson and Zoe Russell-von Bujdoss. Its tone and lyrics encapsulate the play. The audience’s hushed response spoke to its effectiveness.
Visually, the production remains faithful to late-90s New
York authenticity. Set designer James Davey constructs a lived-in apartment
space. The red TV topped with a coat-hanger antenna, the scatter of books, and
the worn fold-out sofa — each detail anchors us in a world that feels tactile
and specific. Props by Jack Clark and Parris Crouch amplify this sense of
realism, providing dynamic transitions that mirror the characters’ emotional
shifts.
Costume designer Isobel Watson, assisted by Mona Mortazavi,
excels in articulating shifts in time and tone through wardrobe choices. Subtle
changes help guide the audience through the production’s nonlinear timeline
without need for explicit markers.
At a time when conversations about safety, prejudice, and identity still dominate discourse, Stop Kiss feels tragically current. Manoa’s production honours this with honesty and compassion. The tenderness between Callie and Sara, the resilience they inspire in each other, and the lingering ache of what follows resonate deeply with contemporary audiences. Ultimately, Little Theatre’s Stop Kiss is a production that champions authenticity over spectacle. It’s a powerful reminder that stories of queer love are still necessary and remain urgent.
- Andrew Broadbent
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