Review: STILT at Corrib Theatre

Not knowing who you are can hollow you out, leaving a space that can too easily get filled with all sorts of dangerous things. Joy Nesbitt's STILT, now making its world premiere at Corrib Theatre under Holly Griffith's direction, takes that primal anxiety about identity and weaves it into something both mythic and unnervingly contemporary.

You probably remember the tale of Rumpelstiltskin: a miller brags to the king that his daughter can spin straw into gold. The king locks her in a room and threatens her with death if she can't do it. She can't, of course. It's impossible. Enter a strange little man who offers to help, but at a price: first her necklace, then her ring, and finally, her firstborn child. Desperate and facing imminent death, she agrees. Years later, now queen, when Rumpelstiltskin comes to collect the baby, she's given one last chance: guess his name in three days, and she keeps her child. She does. Rumpelstiltskin dies (in some versions, by his own hand). The queen wins.

But did she, really? And who's the villain here anyway? The woman was thrown into an impossible situation by her greedy father, facing death if she couldn't perform magic she didn't possess. Yes, she traded away a future child, but that child was hypothetical, while her own death was very real. And Rumpelstiltskin? He helped her when no one else would, even if his price was extortionate. The morality here is messy, ambiguous, like so many of the Grimm brothers' tales.

Nesbitt leans into that moral murkiness brilliantly, bringing it into the current context of far-right ideology. In the play, TJ (Max Bernsohn) was born in Ireland and sent to a mother and baby home before being adopted by an American family. He is deeply traumatized by things he can barely remember, and has never felt like he belonged. As a lost twentysomething, he returns to Ireland, emotionally fragile and still profoundly isolated. He styles himself a seanchaí (a traditional Gaelic storyteller), telling stories down at the pub, and somewhere along the way, he falls into an online group that pulls him down the manosphere rabbit hole.

When his adopted father falls ill, his brother Chris (Jonathan Hernandez) travels to Ireland to find him. TJ has recently started seeing a woman named Fiadh (Olivia Mathews), but driven by unnamed mental illness, a dangerous blurring of fact and fiction, and the misogyny he's absorbed online, TJ begins interpreting his own pain through the lens of Rumpelstiltskin.

This play is brilliantly written – intricately woven, if you'll pardon the pun. It's intellectually complex but also operates on a raw emotional level that gets under your skin and stays there. The tonal range is remarkable, moving from genuine tenderness to moments that are legitimately frightening, and the cast navigates these shifts with skill and precision.

Bernsohn's TJ is a difficult balance to strike. He's simultaneously a wounded little boy desperate for belonging and a genuinely menacing grown man whose obsessions have curdled into something dangerous. Bernsohn makes you understand both, even as the latter becomes harder to watch. Hernandez brings his signature emotional depth to Chris, capturing that specific way siblings can see through each other's defenses while still desperately wanting to protect them. And Matthews is extraordinary as Fiadh. You feel her falling for TJ's vulnerability and charm, which makes it all the more devastating when she realizes exactly what she's gotten herself into.

I have to give special kudos to lighting designer Kelly Terry. Historic Alberta House is a gorgeous space, but it wasn't built to be a theatre. The tech team has made the most of what they have, and Terry's lighting design is beautiful and precise.

Stilt asks uncomfortable questions about identity, belonging, and the often nonsensical stories we tell ourselves to make sense of our pain. It's an examination of how easily isolation and ideology can twist someone into something unrecognizable, even to themselves. In the fairy tale, knowing the name had power. In Nesbitt's version, not knowing yours might destroy you.

STILT runs through December 7. Details and tickets here.

This production was made possible in part by a grant from the Oregon Cultural Trust. As we approach the end of the year, remember that donations to OCT qualify for a tax credit, so it’s an easy way to support excellent work like this in Oregon.