Meteors theatre review: Quietly heartbreaking
Feeling at once personal and universal, Melissa Pullinger lays bare the messy reality of grief, and the love that remains
Anyone who has ever lost anyone has their list of pet hates: the head tilts, the awkward pauses, the mountain of neighbours’ Tupperware cascading out of the drawer, the endless sadmin. But the thing about grief, particularly first grief, is that if feels so uniquely singular and personal that you can’t quite bring yourself to believe this has ever happened to anyone else. Meteors, a solo show written and performed by Melissa Pullinger, finds its emotional resonance by playing in this place between universal and unique. Pullinger’s story is hers, of course, but it’s also a tale as old as time, which means as a viewer you move between empathising with her grief at the loss of her mum and nodding along to the beat of your own sadness.
Quietly heartbreaking and told utterly simply on a bare stage with a chair as the only prop, it tugs at the emotions in a series of tiny tremors, like a wren hopping from branch to branch. This contrasts with Pullinger’s fascination with an upcoming meteor: its vastness showing her, and us, that grief is also a constellation. This gently beautiful hour will gently crack you open and, ultimately, leave you marvelling at the miracle of love.
Meteors, Summerhall, until 31 August, 9pm; picture: Missy Snaps.