seven methods of killing kylie jenner

We’d all heard about ‘seven methods of killing kylie jenner’. It’s a brilliant name and there had been a real buzz about the original play and its return to the Royal Court in 2021. Now it was online, a filmed version being streamed via our CogPlayer platform.

We might all haver heard of it but none of us were exactly sure what we’d be seeing.

It was an onslaught. It was overwhelming, overpowering, over sharing. It was great.

Two friends, women of colour, trying to put the world to rights.

Cleo’s had enough. She’s angry and she’s Tweeting. At first it’s faux frustration, Twitter outrage. How can Kylie Jenner,  the daughter of billionaires, be described as ‘self made’?

Kylie Jenner must die and here’s how…

Like. Retweet.

Cleo’s friend, Kara tries to talk her down. She doesn’t want this to get out of control. She knows her. They are best friends from way back. She’s just joking, right?

As the retweets rack up, Cleo digs in her heels. the stakes get higher and the haters start their hating.

Lighting changes and the two characters become possessed by the voices of the faceless, anonymous vitriol; mouthing their words.

But Cleo isn’t done. Her frustration is layered, nuanced and informed. First time playwright, Jasmine Lee-Jones gives her character depth through education.

Cleo is currently writing her dissertation on structural anti-blackness. In the fight against racism, she’s armed with historical context.

This social media celebrity is on top of the world, pushing ‘enhancements’ and physical features that would previously have seen black women beaten and lynched. How can you not want to plot revenge against that?

Kara isn’t done either, she knows her friend is far from perfect. She points out the hypocrisies. She picks at the threads of their friendship and of course it untangles. Deeply buried resentments are brought back to the surface. Youthful indiscretions are dragged into the glaring context of adulthood. It’s raw, emotional, personal.

The fairly minimal set does a great job of reflecting the ambiguity and complexity of the narrative. The space is dominated by a tree with dangling threads. Maybe it represents the strands of the internet, maybe those threads suggest the fragility of the women’s relationship, there is definitely a deep-south bayou feel at times.

And for this filmed version the atmosphere is enhanced by multiple cameras, quickly cut between the viewpoints. In the end the characters spot those cameras, peer down the lens, step through the fourth wall and slouch into the front row seats as the credits roll. It’s a particularly effective and affecting finish.

Those final few minutes felt like such a decompression from the ever building pressure of the play we’d witnessed. I’ve heard others say they’d have preferred more highs and lows but I loved the pace of it all, or rather the lack of pacing. This was full-on, face-first friendship chatter – acronyms, slang, in-jokes and the shared memories.

I often got lost in the rhythm of the language, exactly as I should – I’m not meant to understand it all; I’m a white man in his 50s, this show isn’t about me, it’s not my story. Which is why I was so pleased to have seen it and shared it with colleagues.

Illustration by Soofyia for our Cultural Calendar.