Bog Witch at HOME

Bryony Kimmings has always made theatre out of personal crisis. In Bog Witch, her first solo show in five years, the crisis is ecological - and uncomfortably close to home. At a moment when eco-theatre is becoming increasingly visible across UK stages, Bog Witch stands out for grounding climate anxiety in lived experience.

Following a critically acclaimed London run, the piece charts Kimmings’ attempt to unplug from the distractions of contemporary life as she relocates with her son, her partner and their blended family to a remote countryside cottage. Instead, what unfolds is an honest attempt to live differently - awkward at times, funny at others, and not always successful. What makes Bog Witch so compelling is how recognisable that attempt feels.

Kimmings moves effortlessly between stand-up, storytelling, folk song and performance lecture, guiding us through a year in the countryside season by season. The folk-inspired songs are deceptively simple - quietly devastating in places, and very funny in others. Shadow projections of animals, leaves and the looming oak tree outside her window stretch the stage into something wilder and more unsettled than it first appears, while swift costume shifts track changes in mood as much as time. Throughout, Kimmings holds the audience with disarming deadpan warmth and razor-sharp comic timing, delivering a steady stream of cracking one-liners that keep the performance buoyant even as its themes deepen. Over a perfectly pitched 90 minutes, the performance feels loose, alive and brilliantly responsive - even as its structure is carefully held in place.

What begins as sharp comedy about Deliveroo-fuelled distraction culture, middle-class eco awkwardness and spiralling guilt about everything from teabags to kettles gradually deepens into something far more raw. The emotional centre arrives during a storm sequence that brings together the death of her cat Mr Tubbs, a miscarriage, and the long-awaited arrival of a tree surgeon to fell a 350-year-old oak she suddenly can’t bear to lose. Personal grief and ecological grief collide here in a way that feels startlingly direct. The figure of the witch shifts meaning across the performance too - at first outsider, then ecological witness, and finally something closer to feminist lineage and survival strategy.

The closing audience participation sequence underlines the generosity at the heart of Kimmings’ work and leaves the theatre with a genuine sense of shared experience rather than instruction. Funny, strange and piercingly relatable, Bog Witch isn’t interested in easy answers. It’s interested in what change actually feels like while it’s happening.