The autobiographical solo show presents a thorny problem to its audience. Given that the writer-performer is speaking of their personal experiences, it becomes difficult to critique that production without apparently damning the person. Narie Foster’s 1 In A Chameleon is an unnecessary work, claiming to consider the challenge of authenticity while blandly celebrating Foster’s life: her anecdotes threaten to comment on the flux of identities she inhabits, or pinpoints moments of self-awareness, only to conclude with platitudes and a list of her characteristics that, tellingly, speaks not to her personality but her roles and achievements. 

Foster concludes that everything is fine, really, and all that doubt she has felt in the social gaze is part of who she is. Yet there is no attempt to define the authenticity she claims to chase, nor is there any emotional weight to her episodic reflections. There is the inevitable audience participation (gentle enough, but the usual easy applause and fake intimacy) and her brief thoughts on being an audience member (in the show that inspired her to create 1 In A Chameleon) hints at an empathy that isn’t in evidence elsewhere in the production. 

Narie Foster: 1 In A Chameleon, Summerhall, run ended; picture: Matthew Priestley.