Abigail Hood’s Monster, now on at Seven Dials Playhouse, is an unflinching look at how violence and neglect take root in ordinary lives. Set in working-class Glasgow, it’s a story that feels lived-in rather than staged — grim, recognisable, and often difficult to watch. Hood, who also stars, brings an authenticity that grounds the piece in something painfully real.
The play begins mid-relationship, with two teenage girls whose bond feels close and familiar. Their world is chaotic — shaped by troubled homes, unreliable adults, and a lack of structure. From the start, there’s a sense of inevitability about where things might lead. What’s most effective is how naturally the story unfolds; nothing feels sensationalised, only observed.
Hood’s performance is raw and believable, capturing a young person trying to navigate confusion and anger in a world that’s offered her very little guidance. Sarah Waddell, as the mother, plays a complicated woman whose behaviour is often destructive yet never one-note. Lisa Ellis gives a strong performance as a teacher who remains caring despite resistance, a rare example of compassion in a setting defined by its absence. The dynamics between the characters — mother and daughter, teacher and student, friend and friend — are layered and convincing, each relationship given space to breathe.
The writing is tight and unsentimental. Hood’s script has a rhythm that feels natural, with dialogue that cuts to the point without losing warmth. There’s no abstraction or stylisation here — just realism that forces you to sit with the discomfort of what you’re watching. The first act closes on a moment so stark that the audience sat in silence, not from confusion but from shock. Act Two then moves forward in time, showing the lasting consequences of the chaos that came before. It’s a smart structural shift, giving the play room to process rather than simply react.
Production-wise, Monster makes the most of its small space. The set — a room lined with newspaper, smoke drifting through the air — does the job without overreaching. The intimacy of the theatre works in the play’s favour; the closeness between actors and audience intensifies the experience. Music is used sparingly but effectively, helping to mark transitions and build atmosphere.
Monster is the kind of play that doesn’t let you look away. It’s confronting without being exploitative, realistic without being bleak for its own sake. Hood’s writing and performance make for a dark, deeply human piece of theatre — one that lingers long after it ends.