Like a classic old lady from the woods in a fairy tale, wicker basket on arm, headscarf, dark shawl, and in front of a circular projection of twigs brushing a cloudy sky, Lizzie addresses us. She tells us she is ‘old now, of no use but to tell stories’. She lets us in on ancient-sounding bits of wisdom such as ‘the grain knows what the wheat doesn’t,’ that ‘the grain is waiting quietly,’ and how we are ‘leading tiny lives that flicker, and then are gone.’ Then… before our very eyes, Lizzie transforms, shedding her scarf, shawl, and crone attire to become a contemporary girl. This is a moment of magic.

Moon Tales is a solo show, performed by its writer Kate Darach. Inspired by the old names for the full moons, from Hunter’s Moon to Harvest Moon, these thirteen interwoven vignettes are female voices from across time and place, telling bittersweet universal stories from the ‘burbs of Johannesburg to medieval Yorkshire, eloquent, dark, sometimes funny; tales of lifelong secrets, sex, regret, desire, hope. Female portraits – many of them linked by the theme of motherhood – capturing the diversity, commonality, and eternity of the female experience.

So now we meet a young woman who likes men, and she likes sex… she knows what she likes and how to get it. She doesn’t need a man to fulfil any void, instead she demands men ‘Fill me, not fulfil me.’ We progress to listening to a woman in therapy, talking about her pregnant sister in law, and how she wants to ask to have that baby, as she knows her sister in law doesn’t want it. There are swift transitions, with changes of projected image onto the moonlike screen, for instance the full moon juxtaposed with a tower block at night. A snippet of a tune is played and within it there’s a change of character. Now we meet Bad Kitty, a chair used as her computer screen. Kitty announces ‘badkitty.com: you pay, we play, Kitty’ll display.’ Yet her ‘business hours’ are interrupted by a phone call from her mother.

Moon Tales’ characters are bold, succinct and evocative. Other memorable women we meet include the young Indian bride-to-be, who speaks of ‘flowers rotting away invisibly, and you cannot tell’. She transforms into Mary in the stable; into the young gay woman, accompanied by a Smiths tune and projection of cherry blossom, which slips into an image of a human embryo to accompany the woman who self-harms who wishes to be held and helpless. She speaks of the emergency flare that is sent up, which doesn’t mean that the ship is sinking, and states ‘I win, when I lose.’ The final character returns us to Lizzie once more… not in her hunched crone form, as the young maiden, full of hope and possibility.

The writing is magnificent – clear and essential, bringing to life multidimensional lives, different faces and fears, loves and desires… and aloneness. The performance is stunning in its vivacity, astuteness, and commitment to character.

I felt that the staging – in raked seating looking down onto the performance – wasn’t arranged in the best way for the show as we were. Something more intimate would have supported the material better: it’s less powerful being told stories when you’re being looked up to, and in such a large space, a microphone would have been of benefit.