Milk

Something’s gone off at the Traverse. This year’s line-up is the weakest in a long, long time, and its two home-grown shows are the worst of the lot. Milk is, frankly, rotten.

Ross Dunsmore’s debut looks horribly exposed on the main stage. A trio of interlinked stories span the generations. Two narcisstic teenagers chew the fat, dreaming themselves famous and fit. Ash (Cristian Ortega) piles on the protein, gorging on takeaway chicken to buff himself up. Steph (Helen Mallon) is more insecure. Forever fending off her mother’s boyfriend, she sets out to ensnare a teacher she fancies.

On the other side of the city, afraid to leave home for fear of young kids, world war two veteran Cyril (Tam Dean Burn) watches his wife pass away. Her corpse sits in its armchair for days, but nobody stops by.

At the centre—the best of a bad bunch—a mother (Melody Grove) struggles to breastfeed her newborn; an act she sees as integral to motherhood. Much to the frustration of her formula-waving partner, a teacher, Nicole insists that “milk is love”.

Dunsmore’s point is that we focus on younger generations at the expense of the elderly. Using food as a way in is a neat encapsulation, but his dramatic action is half-baked and over-egged. To prove how the young eat the old, he stuffs in too many (clichéd) events and Orla O’Loughlin’s production strains to fill the space, pushing characters past credibility with some curdled overacting.