Interview with Tobias Graham

With his bold new solo show Slugs, writer and performer Tobias Graham brings a provocative, darkly funny exploration of queer shame, desire and memory to the Edinburgh Fringe. Blurring the lines between autobiography and fiction, the play questions not only the stories we tell ourselves, but also the ethics of telling deeply personal stories on stage. We caught up with Tobias to discuss creating discomfort through theatre, revisiting formative experiences, and why queer stories don't always fit into neat narratives.

What first inspired you to write Slugs?

The idea has ruminated for a while and kept oscillating between a multitude of thoughts. I wanted to write something autobiographical, something that made sense of confusing sexual encounters I’ve

had over my life, and I also wanted to write something that would comment on the form of autobiographical theatre making itself. That sounds convoluted, I know, but the idea of making a show that presents as one thing, and then transforms into something completely different, was fascinating to me. What has materialised from those initial thoughts - slugs and all - has taken me completely by surprise. I think it’ll do exactly that to the audience, too.

The show is described as semi-autobiographical. How did you decide what to reveal and what to fictionalise?

Much of the play is based in truth, on real stories and true to life experiences I have had. But I knew there needed to be more to this play in order to land the bigger points I want to make. Moments needed to be dramatised and heightened, some needed to be completely imagined and those

moments came quite naturally in the process. Put simply, if I felt bored of myself, I switched it up and tried something new.

The image of slugs is both unsettling and memorable. How did that metaphor come about?

The show was always going to be about confusing sexual discoveries, and so I knew the whole thing needed to have that disconcerting undertone. I wanted to explore knotty and uncomfortable issues,

looking into darker spaces and delving into topics that weren’t going to be easy to navigate. Slugs quite literally appear in those damp and dark spaces of the world - in the dirt, in the shadows, in your drains

- and so it felt like they wrote themselves into the show. Also, they’re so interesting. Don’t you kind of want to find out how slugs have sex?

The play explores queer adolescence. Why do you think those years can stay with people so powerfully?

Those years are so formative - for everyone. For queer people, adolescence can be even more complicated. Representation and access are limited, and our sexual discovery can often lead us into precarious situations, or situations we are led to believe are precarious because they are non-

normative. We feel things so explosively during our adolescence, experiencing huge emotions for the first time - it’s like orchestras erupt at every moment inside of you. It’s impossible for those years to

not leave a lasting mark on our bodies forever.

Why did you want to challenge the audience's trust in the narrator?

Audiences are naturally trusting of the performer in a solo show. We want to root for them, we want to believe them and we want to understand their journey. It felt like there was fertile ground to explore that relationship and bring into question the entire form of the solo show. We’re more and more comfortable nowadays with the autobiographical form of theatre (and TV and film), and so it feels like the right time to take that step backwards and interrogate that form a little deeper. Slugs gives the audience the opportunity to form their own opinions on whether or not they choose to root for me, the performer, rather than simply having to accept it as truth.

The show touches on predatory relationships and complicated consent. Why was it important to approach those subjects without easy answers?

The easy answers don’t provide a productive conversation, and I really want this show to engage its audience in a way that can move the conversation surrounding consent forwards. It feels like we’re in an era of recognising nuance, questioning the black and white binary of “right” and “wrong” and “good” and “bad”. I know the subject matter the play touches on are difficult topics, and yet I think a

lot of people will be able to relate to them. The experiences I wrote about in the play were genuinely confusing to me for a long time, and finding some kind of understanding has been really tricky. That’s

the trickiness I need to communicate through this play.

How has working with director George Jibson shaped the production?

George understood the play from the get go. Having that trust with him from day one has been so important because the conversation around the play has felt so natural. We’ve sat in cafes and George has been unbelievably helpful in guiding me through the hellish activity of redrafting. Having someone to bounce ideas off during the writing process can be rare, more often than not you’re left to fester alone with your big, scary ideas. George came in at just the right time, and we’ve landed with a slick,

sharp and punchy play.

What has been the biggest creative challenge in developing a solo show?

As with any writing, the process can feel isolating. It can be hard to judge whether the ideas in your head are properly translating onto the page. Writing this solo show was completely unique to me because it was autobiographical. As such, I know the stories and I know the feeling associated with them, but the challenge then became finding the most effective way to theatricalise that. The writing

couldn’t just prove to be a cathartic activity to me - it needed to be a play that made other people feel and think. To be able to judge my own story objectively has been a whole journey in itself.

The play shifts between comedy, confession and psychological drama. How difficult was it finding that balance?

I’m always drawn to tricky and complicated drama. I’m drawn to stories that are unapologetic -stories that don’t censor themselves. I think when you write a drama like that, moments of comedy come quite naturally. I haven’t been writing jokes and I haven’t set out with the intention of making my audiences laugh, but I think some of the situations that occur in the play are comical just because they’re so completely shameless. Shock and amusement often go hand in hand.

What does it mean to premiere Slugs at the Edinburgh Fringe?

This is a total dream. I’ve wanted to take a show to Edinburgh Fringe for years, to be in the city during this time, surrounded by people who all want to see and make exciting theatre. Slugs was written

specifically for this festival, and it has that quality of a show that could only exist within this context. To have the play start its journey here is both exciting and terrifying.

Your work often explores queer discomfort and empowerment. Why are those themes so important to you?

Queer people exist in a society that hasn’t been designed for them. We exist in spaces and places that create a feeling of unease that feels inherent - from schools to bars to clubs to supermarkets to your own street. I think it was Sara Ahmed who described it akin to sitting in an armchair that has been

moulded to another body; you can sit and exist, but you can’t get comfortable. This invisible violence against queerness frustrates me, and that’s why I fixate on it so much in my work. I like my work to feel confrontational, to call it out, and, in turn, to hopefully offer some empowerment to the queer experience.

If audiences leave remembering just one thing about Slugs, what do you hope it is?

There’s a moment in the play that is something I haven’t experienced as an audience member before.

Annoyingly (for you) I don’t want to give away any spoilers, but I can’t wait to see how it all plays out. If we pull it off, I have no doubt this is the moment people will remember. George has described it as

“toe curling” and I am obsessed with that. How could “toe curling” not be memorable?!

A huge thank you to Tobias for taking the time to speak with me about Slugs. The world premiere runs at Pleasance Courtyard – Bunker One as part of the Edinburgh Festival Fringe from 5th–29th August (excluding 18th & 25th August) at 12:55pm. To find out more and book tickets, just click this link: https://www.pleasance.co.uk/event/slugs