Jack Holden doesn’t so much take the stage at The Other Palace as seize it in a chokehold. In Kenrex, his high-octane, true-crime-tinted solo show, the writer-performer turns a modest studio space into a full-blown psychological playground, ricocheting between characters, timelines and tonal shifts with almost reckless energy. Billed as a darkly comic dive into obsession, fandom and the stories we tell about real-life horror, this one-man romp pushes its central performer to the limit – and, as Time Out’s review reveals, the result is an unexpectedly joyous theatrical rush.
Inside Kenrex at The Other Palace Jack Holden turns true crime obsession into theatrical joy
Holden stalks the tiny studio stage like a late‑night podcaster who’s slipped his leash, channelling that familiar true crime binge energy into a performance that feels both forensic and feral. Armed with little more than a mic,a chair and an elastic face,he sifts through the digital detritus of an invented case file – tabloid headlines,Reddit speculation,blurred CCTV stills – and turns them into live,combustible theatre. The jokes land sharp and fast, but beneath the punchlines there’s a cool curiosity about why we devour grim stories as entertainment, and what it costs the real people left behind. It’s the rare one‑man show that captures the dopamine rush of a streaming docuseries while also slowing the scroll long enough to ask who’s holding the camera, and why.
The production’s playful structure mirrors an online rabbit hole, but with theatrical flourishes that keep it squarely rooted in the room. Holden punctuates his narrative with:
- Character “tabs” that he opens and closes with a flick of his body
- Live “reconstructions” lit and scored like a prestige TV cold open
- Onstage “evidence boards” built from nothing but gesture and timing
| Element | Effect on Audience |
|---|---|
| Comic interrogation scenes | Nudges us to question bias |
| Podcast-style narration | Recreates bingeable intimacy |
| Sudden tonal shifts | Expose the cost of voyeurism |
What emerges is a knowingly maximalist collage that treats our collective murder‑map obsession not as a moral failing to scold, but as a cultural puzzle to pick apart, one gasp and punchline at a time.
Crafting a maximum effort solo performance How Holden sustains energy intimacy and pace
Holden works like a one-man relay team, passing the narrative baton between characters, timelines and tones without ever letting it clatter.He punctuates dense plot drops with sharp, almost throwaway gags, then undercuts the laughter with a sudden hush, a narrowed gaze, a silence that dares the room to breathe. The energy isn’t just high, it’s precisely modulated: he leans into stillness as much as sprinting monologue, using a lowered voice and a half-step toward the front row to turn a packed auditorium into something that feels almost conspiratorial. That control of volume, rhythm and physical presence keeps the audience locked in even as the story zigzags through genre-true crime, queer coming-of-age, and backstage farce all stitched together with a stand-up’s instinct for timing.
- Vocal shifts: clipped for cops, languid for lovers, brittle for victims.
- Micro-movements: a flicked wrist or tilted chin signals entire scene changes.
- Rhythmic variation: breathless bursts of exposition followed by needle-drop pauses.
- Audience calibration: eye contact used like spotlight and scalpel.
| Performance Tool | Effect on the Room |
|---|---|
| Rapid-fire patter | Keeps the true-crime plot racing forward |
| Long, held pause | Builds unease and emotional proximity |
| Sudden physical burst | Jolts attention, resets flagging focus |
| Soft, confiding tone | Mimics late-night podcast intimacy |
From podcast culture to live stage Why this true crime romp feels fresh instead of exploitative
Holden taps into the cadence and caffeine-jitter energy of bingeable audio shows, but then gleefully detonates their constraints the second he steps onstage. Instead of leaning on grisly detail or prurient speculation, he raids podcast culture for its best tools-sharp cliffhangers, nimble timeline jumps, meta-commentary on the storyteller’s own bias-and then exposes them in real time. The result feels more like a live deconstruction of our obsession with narratives of danger than a parade of suffering. With nothing but a mic,a few deft lighting cues and his own elastic physicality,he becomes host,suspect,witness and ad break voiceover all at once,skewering the way we package fear for consumption.
- No gore, plenty of wit: the focus is on language, rhythm and outlook.
- Victims off the pedestal: individuals, not props for plot twists.
- Audience implicated: we’re gently nudged to examine why we’re entertained.
| Podcast Trope | Stage Remix |
|---|---|
| Moody soundscape | Live vocal Foley and physical comedy |
| Anonymous narrator | Performer fully visible, fully accountable |
| Teaser for next episode | Cliffhanger turned into punchline |
What keeps the piece from veering into exploitation is its persistent insistence on context over shock. Holden refuses to sanctify the killer or fetishise the crime scene; his gaze keeps sliding back to institutional failures, media hysteria and our own appetite for neatly packaged horror. He mines humour not from the brutality itself but from the absurd ecosystem that springs up around it: the merch, the message boards, the corporate-backed “investigations” that double as branding exercises.In interrogating those systems with such theatrical flair, the show lands as a rarity in the genre-a high-energy crowd-pleaser that invites you to question your listening habits even as you’re hanging on every word.
Who should book for Kenrex Practical tips on tickets best seats and what to expect from the night
If you live for podcasts about grisly misdeeds,binge prestige crime dramas or secretly fancy yourself as a courtroom cross‑examiner,this is your night out. Holden’s solo turn is dense with detail, brisk with jokes and steeped in pop-cultural reference, so it’s best suited to audiences who enjoy keeping up rather than kicking back. It’s also a strong fit for theatre fans who like their shows formally playful: one performer, multiple characters, and a staging that leans on inventiveness rather than big-budget spectacle. Less ideal? Anyone expecting a conventional musical, a gentle date-night drama or a gore-fest – the thrills here are psychological, not splatter-based.
For the most satisfying experience, aim to be as close to the action as your budget allows – the venue is intimate, but proximity really pays off when you’re tracking Holden’s micro-shifts in character and tone.
- Best value: Front of the side blocks, where sightlines stay clean without premium pricing.
- Immersion hunters: Central stalls within the first 5-7 rows, where every throwaway glance lands.
- Budget-conscious: Back stalls or the occasional restricted-view seat; the storytelling still carries,even if a few visual details don’t.
- When to book: Weeknights often have the best mix of availability and price; avoid last‑minute weekends if you’re picky about location.
| Seat Zone | Vibe | Ideal For |
|---|---|---|
| Front Stalls | Face-to-face intensity | True-crime obsessives |
| Mid Stalls | Balanced view & sound | Date nights, small groups |
| Back / Side | Cheaper, slightly cooler | Solo theatregoers, students |
Expect a lean running time, minimal set and a performance that asks you to build the world in your head – the fun lies in how quickly Holden can flip a room’s mood from laughter to unease. Arrive a touch early: The Other Palace’s bar is compact, and this is the sort of show you’ll want to watch with a clear head and a settled drink, not halfway through unbuttoning your coat.
In Retrospect
what lingers about Kenrex is not just the cleverness of its conceit or the polish of its production, but the sense of giddy complicity it creates between performer and audience.Holden turns an obsession with true crime into something sharper and stranger: a live-wire examination of why we’re drawn to the darkest stories, and what it costs to tell them. At The Other Palace, that alchemy feels both disarmingly intimate and defiantly theatrical. If this is where the genre is headed on stage – playful, self-aware, and unwilling to settle for easy thrills – then Kenrex isn’t just a night of maximum-effort fun; it’s a signpost for how solo performance can still surprise us.
