Review: Single White Female at The Opera House

Walking into the Opera House for a Valentine’s‑week psychological thriller, sitting in stall J20 with my diet cola in hand, I wasn’t expecting to end the night feeling sorry for the villain. But that’s exactly what Single White Female – and Kym Marsh as Hedra – managed to do.

Crowd, vibe and that set

Ahead of curtain up I was quizzing people around me about what they expected: some knew the 90s film, some didn’t; some knew Kym from Corrie, others were just here for a night at the theatre.

That felt right, because this production stands on its own two feet without needing the VHS nostalgia.

The set is deceptively simple: a slightly dodgy flat – basically a kitchen and a living room, with the bedrooms left to our imagination.

The “iffy” electrics and spare design actually work in the show’s favour, keeping the focus on the performances and giving the whole thing a lived‑in, slightly unsafe energy.

Add in sharp clips of music and punchy lighting changes and the pace rarely lets up, even when the script leans into those “should I be laughing at this?” moments.

Allie, Hedra and a flat share from hell

Lisa Faulkner’s Allie is the single mum juggling a tech start‑up and a teenager in a flat that’s one leaky pipe away from giving up.

I’m not a parent, but I still felt the knot of love, guilt and sheer exhaustion she carries into every scene, especially when her daughter pushes back or the bills start to bite.

There’s warmth and vulnerability there that makes her bad decisions frustrating and completely understandable at the same time.

Then there’s Hedra.

In our chat earlier this week, Kym told me she was oddly protective of the character, because “we all have a back story” and she didn’t want to play a Scooby‑Doo villain.

On stage, that absolutely lands: Hedra arrives as the dream lodger, quietly helpful and a bit awkward, and then slowly tilts off‑centre until you realise your shoulders have been up around your ears for twenty minutes.

The costume, the hair, the slightly‑too‑long pauses and that passive‑aggressive sweetness all made my skin creep, but there were also moments where I genuinely felt for her – not the reaction I’d gone in expecting.

By the time the replica gun appears – or is it?

I’m still not entirely sure what I saw – the trust in that flat has completely evaporated. I physically jumped and dropped my diet cola, which tells you everything you need to know about how well the tension has been wound.

The ones you root for

Around them, the supporting cast quietly steal scenes. Allie’s gay best friend brings exactly the right mix of humour and heart – that “wrong place, wrong time” friend you absolutely want by your side, even as you’re silently begging him not to knock on that door.

The teenage daughter, played with bags of energy and just‑right vulnerability, nails that 15‑going‑on‑25 attitude while clearly still being a kid.

Her scenes with Allie give the show its emotional spine, but they also feed directly into the most unsettling theme of the night: what happens when social media, first crushes and bullying get thrown into an already volatile mix.

When the daughter poses for a picture for her “boyfriend”, some of the audience laughed – a kind of nervous giggle – and I honestly couldn’t tell if we were finding the teen bravado funny or just feeling deeply uncomfortable about what might happen to that image next.

Probably both, and that ambiguity is where the production really earns its modern update.

Social media, envy and that window

Kym described the show to me as a story of envy, heartbreak and loneliness, dragged firmly into the social media age, and on stage that mix is pretty potent. Phone screens glow in the dark, online bullying bleeds into real‑world danger, and identities are curated, copied and twisted in ways that feel very now.

It’s still a 90s thriller at its core, but now the copying isn’t just clothes and haircuts – it’s Instagram feeds and digital lives as well.

Tonally, the production walks a tightrope between dark humour and genuine menace. At times you can feel the room asking the same question I was: “Is it OK to laugh here?” – particularly when a line lands a bit camp just before something nasty happens.

But when the show goes for suspense, it really goes for it: the infamous window moment had the whole section around me sucking in breath and mentally checking their own window latches when they got home.

Walking out with the villain

By the curtain call, the Opera House was on its feet, with a standing ovation and what sounded very much like a proud pocket of Kym’s family cheering her on from the stalls.

And here’s the twist: I walked in expecting to fear Hedra and cheer everyone else, but I walked out thinking she might be the only one who truly understood how lonely this hyper‑connected world can be, while the others felt, frankly, a bit naïve.

As the woman next to me headed off to her taxi on Quay Street, she turned and said, “Always close your windows, love,” and I just winked – because after this Single White Female, I absolutely will!

• Single White Female runs at Manchester Opera House until Saturday 14th February
• Tickets from ATG