In her European debut, Leah Shelton arrives on stage as the epitome of an early 1960s housewife. Sparkly dress, petite heels, and curly blonde wig. Then she sings, dances and lounges on a green chaise lounge, unveiling the story of her grandmother through multiple mediums with chilling results. Supported by archival evidence and interviews, Shelton’s physical performance is matched by superb stage effects. An atmospheric rendition of diagnosis asserts that, according to society’s standards, we might all be considered ‘batshit’. As Shelton chronicles her grandmother’s stay in a psychiatric ward, she highlights the control exerted over women by framing their emotions as hysteria. Through her desperation and drug-addled confusion, from the smile-inducing to the terrifying, we discover a harrowing truth: the end will only come through the satisfaction of her husband.

Reaching a crescendo in the last moments, Shelton charts some of the women in our own time lost to the label of ‘crazy’. Told with raw emotion, Batshit is strikingly adept at making its point and will cause you to rethink your own attitudes towards women’s mental health; or just make you want to buy an axe. Either way, this aesthetically pleasing and spooky look into the past will literally give you goosebumps. 

Batshit, Traverse Theatre, until 25 August, times vary; main picture: Pia Johnson.