A couple short on cash turn to OnlyFans for a quick quid, but it is the script that struggles to get subscribers in this clumsy piece.
Sean Stillmaker’s script, performed admirably by Ellen Pallant and Anton Bibby, focuses on two unnamed characters, simply referred to as ‘Him’ and ‘Her’, whose money troubles often see them collide with the landlord. ‘Him’ (Bibby) is a junior chef whose zero-hours contract means money is unpredictable, while ‘Her’ (Pallant) is a wannabe lifestyle influencer whose following abandons her after a poor decision leaves her both trolled and unemployable.
As yet another landlord closes in on the overdue pair, it is Him who, a little too out of the blue, suggests girlfriend Her join OnlyFans, with the latter apprehensive at first before diving in, feet-first (a clue as to the content), into the murky world where sex work and dopamine-hitting chases for likes and subscribers combine.
It is an incredibly modern script, leaning heavily on the audience understanding the lie of the land when it comes to virality and content creation, yet the script is hollow and unrefined, relying on poorly formed soundbites (‘don’t yuck on their yum’ / ‘risky being frisky’), which undermines the dialogue. Indeed, Her’s decision to join the platform seems a little too abrupt (is there really nothing else either of them can do?), and as a result, the point Stillmaker’s script is trying to make is vague and unsettled.
At times, though, there is some success here. A dramatic turn with one of Her’s subscribers leaves the character exposed and anxious, and Pallant is excellent in crafting a woman whose empowerment evaporates as her objectifying subscribers take hold. Adébayo Bolaji’s careful direction of this scene does try to counterbalance much of the play’s superficial content with this acute, moving moment, but there is not enough opportunities for this in the script. Bibby’s exploration of the toll it takes on Him shooting his girlfriend’s content is interesting, but this is contradicted by his excitement at getting her online in the first place, which immediately sets the tone as slightly too unbelievable.
Indeed, it is the back and forth in the way that the characters behave that makes the play so underwhelming, despite the clear hard work of the two performers. Both characters make poor but extreme decisions. This is not a story about a cash-strapped couple who turn to only sex work as a last resort, which might have a little more emotional resonance, but instead these are two characters who make continual, avoidable mistakes, such as dabbling with cryptocurrency. The nods to the corrupting impact of chasing an online lifestyle are deftly troubling, but the script could do more with this, retreating instead to more outlandish behaviours.
There is great potential in the idea, but the script needs work, and this holds back 15 Minutes of Shame from making any truly long-lasting point. There is something in here about the exploitation of the working classes, the psychological toll online influencing can have, and the longevity of one’s internet footprint, but the message, unfortunately, is as fleeting as the time in the title.
