The Echo of a Noise – Review

The Echo of a Noise is an honest and intimate memoir into the life of Pieter-Dirk Uys and will be running until 6 August at Elizabeth Sneddon Theatre.

Growing up in post-apartheid South Africa and recalling short glimpses of South Africa’s infamous personality, Evita, I never quite expected to learn about the man behind her. Let’s start with the fact that this is a one-man show. Commanding a stage is difficult enough but holding an audience’s attention by yourself for the entire duration of your show can be no easy feat. Uys does this flawlessly, effortlessly and above all else, authentically. At no point did the audience’s attention waiver. His prose is much like an analogy he describes his father giving him (warning: very mild spoiler alert) around the idea of slowly romancing and seducing your audience before knocking them off their feet with surprising content.

His memoir starts in his family home as a young boy, raised in a conservative white, Christian Afrikaner community surrounded by a very musically talented family and ends at the pinnacle of his fame. It’s filled with relatable anecdotes. It’s especially relatable to those who were around during the birth of apartheid or those who are more adept at Afrikaans (sadly, I am neither and found myself sometimes at a loss). The journey he takes us on (and believe me, you’re in for a ride) sometimes feels like a sweet uncle sharing his story of the good (& not so good) old days then transitions back to a portrait of the harsh realities and courageous acts of those opposing a system that marks our history. It’s a story of someone finding themselves, moulding their identity with the interactions of those around them and learning their own boundaries. It’s a vision of self discovery splattered with life’s many joys, curveballs and tragic heartbreaks. In all honesty, I didn’t know what to expect and at the start wasn’t too sure if I’d enjoy this. I’m really glad to say that I way wrong.

To book your ticket, visit: www.computicket.com