SHERMAN THEATRE, CARDIFF.Â
Forgiveness of a Monster is a rare theatrical sequel. Plays don’t often get ‘part twos’. I guess this is because, unlike film, theatre audiences are less likely to be familiar with the original instalments, and even more unlikely to find a way to catch up on them, despite the growing prevalence of theatre streaming in recent years.
But thankfully, this isn’t the Marvel Cinematic Universe. You’re not expected to know anything about the first chapter The Making of a Monster, an autobiographical grime musical which followed the writer and performer Connor Allen playing himself as a troubled teen struggling with his identity.
Nor do you need to be aware that this struggle manifested itself in anger towards his loved ones and perpetuated a hatred towards his absent father. This is neatly recapped within the first few moments of the play. All this is now merely the backdrop to a new story about a young adult unpacking the psychology behind his troubled adolescence.
The show unfolds like a concept album. There aren’t scenes as much as there are tracks with interludes. Each musical sequence is book-ended by either a conversation between Connor and his therapist (calling to mind Dave’s Psychodrama) or fantastical sequences set within his subconscious, featuring mystical battles between angels and demons fighting for his soul.
Close your eyes and you could almost be plugged into a mixtape masterwork, an immersive soundscape of rap and fantasy. That’s not to dismiss the visuals, though. The set, designed by Ebrahim Nazier and described as Connor’s ‘fortress of solitude’, consists of fractured mirrored rock, a half-dug grave and a therapist’s chair beneath a spotlight. On raised platforms either side of the stage sits composer and sound designer Orine Johnson at the drums (also voicing Connor’s supportive therapist) and Mya Fox-Scott as Lucy (a play on Lucifer), who embodies the worst of Connor’s self-hatred. He is the angel on Connor’s left shoulder and she is the demon on his right.
The space fits perfectly with the fantasy aesthetic playing out in Connor’s mind, perhaps informed by the kind of stories he would have turned to for escape during the troubled youth he is examining. To me it felt very ‘Temple of Doom’.
Connor Allen is a magnetic performer. He puts you at ease during moments of audience participation that feel authentically casual and conversational. He also breaks through the more extravagant moments of fantasy with deadpan responses, bringing both the profound and ridiculous firmly down to earth.
A standout moment comes during his visit to Jamaica, where he is terrified that he will be rejected as a Welsh mixed-race man too disconnected from his roots. Yet, when a stranger takes an interest and immediately offers him acceptance, you can almost see his years of longing fade away and palpably feel his enormous relief at discovering a new sense of belonging.
Mya Fox-Scott too is astonishingly versatile. She shifts between angel and demon herself, at times an omniscient narrator (who is later revealed to embody someone far more profound) and elsewhere as Lucy, she blends genuine menace with camp theatricality.
Her entrance in particular reminded me of the opening credits of the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers in which Rita Repulsa, the gleeful villain of the series emerges promising to ‘conquer Earth!’. I mean this as a compliment! A later reference made by a younger Connor to Power Rangers made me think this may have even been intentional. Either way, this 90s kid appreciated it.
Orine Johnson gives an empathetic performance and his compositions are sublime. His beats underpin Allen’s verses perfectly. They also complement Fox-Scott’s smooth, impeccable vocals. His music is truly the driving force of this show, a kind of connective tissue binding Allen’s writing with his performance to ensure a cohesive, highly emotional experience.
It’s fair to say that the narrative is a little disjointed. The story drifts and refuses to follow a clear structure or allow for easy interpretation. It seems to me, that unlike The Making of a Monster, the intention here is to focus on feelings evoked rather than the mechanisms of plot. It encourages the audience to resist trying to understand each moment or predict where the story may be heading and simply to feel their way through it instead.
We are invited to sit in the confusion of the protagonist, a man struggling with the breakthroughs he is making in therapy. With each new realisation, he recognises that he is losing a part of himself. He wants to be free of his anger and yet fears who he might be without it.
It’s this contradiction, wanting to both finish a race but stop running, that creates that air of frustration that the audience must sit with in the hope of a reward. But the character’s healing is an ongoing process with no fix-all solution waiting at its end. This is, by its nature, an endless process which starts with being able to look in the mirror and truly take in what he sees.
Forgiveness of a Monster might be a ‘part two’, but it has grown far apart from its origin story. The Making of a Monster was brave and revealing on a personal level, but this show demonstrates greater artistic courage. It takes genuine risks and is totally unashamed of its ambition.
Forgiveness of a Monster is playing at the Sherman Theatre until 23rd May 2026.