Nothing beats a thriller on a cold winter’s evening – and there’s something particularly eerie about stepping into the Grand Opera House York this week.
As the UK tour of Single White Female embodies this creeping sense of unease, and then twists it, leaving you half-suspecting all the characters you are yet to encounter.
The bones of the story remain unchanged: a lonely flatshare, blurred boundaries, curdling obsession and hidden motives. But this stage version swaps the 90s setting of the original film, and instead thrusts us into the modern age of social media.
In its place we find ourselves witnessing Snapchat jokes, Ozempic use and even a love for Labubus, all earning easy laughter. Yet as this digital world comes to fruition, so too does the danger of the online one, with an underlying commentary on today’s debates and disconnection through constant digital connection. Whilst this debate is of obvious relevance, it never sounds preachy.
At the centre of the plot was Kym Marsh as Hedy, swapping the cobbles of Coronation Street for something far darker – and what a move that was.
Her performance is a true slow-burn, allowing each layer of her character to slowly peel away. At first, she’s tentative, almost fragile, giving this Yorkshire audience a pleasing nod to Yorkshire Tea and roast dinners. Then, scene by scene, you watch her shift. A glance held too long, a smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes, until suddenly the depth, power and deceit are sitting right there in front of you. That contrast sums up the whole show: comfort one minute, unease the next.
Alongside her, playing her ever-so-trusting roommate and tenant, was Lisa Faulkner’s Allie; a determined mother trying to navigate the difficult cards she’s been dealt and the many complex relationships present in her life, all the while unaware she’s welcoming in more. As we so often find, a solution can sometimes lead to a larger problem.
Her portrayal was excellent, especially alongside her friend and business partner Graham. Graham was played with easy charm and extroversion by Andro, bringing a welcome brightness bouncing neatly off Allie’s cooler, slightly detached energy.
But her detachment certainly isn’t from her daughter Bella, played superbly by Amy Snudden. Snudden is a pitch-perfect snapshot of today’s youth: screen-first, half-present, her world filtered through a phone and reality falling somewhat behind. And with her father (played by Johnny McGarrity) completing the family dynamic, their problems only grow bigger and deeper. These relationships add an unexpectedly poignant generational layer that gives the thriller real heart.
The set keeps us grounded in the infamous apartment, yet it never feels static narratively. Instead, it becomes a character in its own right, showing its cracks and foreshadowing the arrival of these complex characters. Then, as it progresses, the lighting shifts, sound creeps in, flashes of past and present flicker across the space, and suddenly the environment itself feels almost threatening.
There’s even a literal, looming presence hanging over the action, a constant reminder that something isn’t right long before the drama explodes. Its clever, confident design by Morgan Large and lighting design by Jason Taylor only emphasises each moment, thought, and feeling portrayed.
This foreshadowing runs throughout, rewarding those who know the story whilst still shocking newcomers, as audible gasps rippled through the audience more than once. And whilst the sound had a couple of initial hiccups, this never pulled focus, and I particularly appreciated the use and relevance of each transitional song.
By the time the curtain call arrives, you feel like you’ve lived inside that flat with them, trusted them and doubted them alike. Sharp, stylish and unsettling, Rebecca Reid’s stage adaptation of Single White Female proves that some stories age like fine wine…especially when given a fresh kick.
Single White Female is playing at Grand Opera House York from Tuesday 3 to Saturday 7 February. Tickets start from £15 and available via the ATG website.
