In an hour exactly, Amie Enriquez offers a chaotically varied guide on suffering and surviving circumstances as bleak as they get – anorexia, dysfunctional and tone deaf families, an extensive stint in rehab, and 9/11. ‘How does she manage that?’ I hear you cry (and please, try to refrain from speaking unless you have the Talking Stick). With snappy character sketches, photo montages, an apparition of a musical icon and a sprinkle-topped pink-frosted cupcake puppet, of course.
Does that sound like a lot? Well, it is. But despite the sometimes difficult-to-track switches between characters (those alive/dead/puppet-y) and the often morose monologues detailing calorie counting and grams of fat, there is one thread that keeps all of Lightweight together: humour. The opening of Enriquez’s true story bears an uncanny, and potentially off-putting, resemblance to Sarah Kane’s 4:48 Psychosis, but Enriquez manages to pull us back from the brink of despair in the nick of time with a razor sharp one liner that sets up the tone of the piece. Balancing these moments of raw emotional turmoil with a slick self-awareness as successfully as Enriquez does is an absolute delight to witness. There is absurdity and exaggeration amongst the more serious stuff, but Enriquez’s masterful handling of both proves that Lightweight is a story of absolute truth.
Perhaps, then, in line with this being about Enriquez’s life up until this point, there can be no solid resolution and, as with most Fringe shows, one hour just isn’t enough. Enriquez ricochets about the stage with an unrelenting energy, bouncing from character to character and scene to scene, for the most part, effectively. The pacing seems to stray towards the end, rushing through crucial elements of Enriquez’s recovery that leave the audience – who have, by this point, become entirely invested in and besotted with her – in flux. But then, that is the nature of eating disorders, and so all is readily forgiven.
The characterisations of Enriquez’s parents, despite drawing the biggest laughs, felt a little on the nose. But, in keeping with the established flow of the show, the closing scene with the cupcake somehow counters any inauthenticity and is simply a masterclass in comedic puppetry. The dexterity with which Enriquez manages the constant to and froing between funny and absurd, subtle and obtuse, a sufferer and a survivor is something that she is clearly no lightweight at.
Lightweight is on at 3:50PM at the Wee Coo until the 29th August, get tickets below:
Theatre Scotland 
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