Review: Trust, Gate Theatre

Namaste. Trust me. Nothing ever changes. No cambia nada. Nunca.

I try to change the way the system works. The blog system. Because that’s what Falk Richter’s Trust is about: systems failure. The systematic failure of capitalism. And it’s starts, lecture style, with our director Jude Christian downloading on us with a lot of big words.


And it’s words, on a page, that you’re pretending to read and scanning through because you’re my Dad and I might ask if you’ve read it or you’re a nice theatre person on Twitter whose trying to be good about reading blogs and stuff. Thanks. That’s nice of you. Or you’re Martin, Manger of the Press, whose job it is it to convince People On High that it’s worth giving away valuable press night space to the influencers of digital space. Hey. Hey, hey. Worth it?

What is there left to do?

How am I to guess what bits of this review anyone’s actually gonna read?

Does anything change if I put the important, pertinent and wise part here? Jude is the coolest person alive and I cannot get over the fact she’s installed herself at the Gate for the entire run of Trust because it’s better than sofa surfing, infinitely more practical than commuting from Manchester and also makes this point about housing. She’s put herself in the play as our go-between. I love that. Or do I leave this till later? I guess you might think that the pithy part of this blogview is at the end for your top quotes sheet you’re supplying for social networks.

Jude Christian in Trust, Gate Theatre. Photo: Ikin Yum

Oh but actually, who’s gonna tweet this anyhow? The blog doesn’t even have THEATRE in the title to make it sound like it wants to be a stratospheric and starry publication that sells advertising and gets put on posters. Trust me, everyone knows your game. And nearly everyone buys into it. Trust me because it’s important that we have trust.

Trust me when I say, everything is trademarked, branded, signed, sealed. The whole Gate building is under construction by Trust Developments™ as an art installation. More installations get built on stage as we shift between scenes that are predicted and made inevitable by the white plaques on the theatre-gallery walls.


Our two characters played by Pia Laboured Noguez and Zephyrn Taitte hand out British Airways™ blankets and eye masks to the audience. They have a fight with Rice Krispies™ and she – our girl, any girl – applies MAC™ makeup begging him – anyone- to trust her in spite of all her deficiencies. This is my favourite scene; it’s so so garrulous, inconstant and excessive. And it’s a moment of frantic stillness in this dreamlike landscape.

It all feels quite hemmed in, though, by the very little space the Gate has to offer being above a pub and all. In Trust‘s original outing in Berlin in 2010 there would have been yards of space to play with the idea of art and installation. And a company to go with it. Jude’s vision for Trust is so large it encroaches on us, which is not to say her ideas aren’t beautiful and her conception not bold.

So has the system already collapsed? No one is getting paid for this critical kind of labour anymore. The exchange is a virtual one and there’s really no one left to decide on its value. Except perhaps the government via the arts council who could provide support for the future of modern criticism. Ha. Trust me that day will come. Soon. Or maybe later rather than sooner.


Trust me when I say it is all a vacuum in which we imagine there’s all this content but actually it’s all leading to absence. It’s a bubble of ricocheting opinion bouncing around until the physics dispels the energy and We. Give. Up. Talking. Because the moment is over, it’s already over, ad infinitum, and the news has moved on and we chat chat chatter on twit twat Twitter.

Imagine a world systems theory of the twittersphere.

Imagine meaningful connection.

Tratemos que imaginar.

Imagine stack upon stack upon stack upon stack upon stack of the Glossier™ and Reni Eddo-Lodge and Eat Up and succulents that weigh down as your life compresses on your chest. Because that’s what this play faces with all the force that German theatre has. It’s about experiencing hedonistic neoliberalism personally. And it sends up the academic negotiations of the Modern World™ that don’t quite change anything.

No hay nada nuevo.


I felt very charmed by Trust. I liked that we concluded with a full on ten minutes of dynamic yoga flow so enthralling I had to tune myself in to the voiceover. The production was calming even when it got technical and compelling even when it was a barking mad confusion of words. I liked it.

Savasana. Bye.