Paul Bradshaw’s double bill centres upon queer sexuality and identity, but both works feel too cynically conceived in this uneven, plot-heavy production.
The evening is split into two equally weighted halves. The first, Tell Me Straight, is an exploration of hookup culture and a man addicted to straight guys, alongside the inevitable heartbreak this brings. The second, Aggy, is a slightly more provocative hour that digs into non-binary identity and the murky monetisation some exploit through gender expression.
Kicking off the two-play piece, Bradshaw leads Tell Me Straight as Him, a gay man drawn increasingly to straight men, including closeted Ryan and best friend Matt, with the latter and Him’s one-off tryst leading to Him reconciling with his own wants and needs. Bradshaw’s style here, with fourth-wall breaks and self-deprecating nods, offers neat insights into the character, but the play, lasting just 65 minutes, tries to cram in too many hookups and conflicts for any to fully land.
Him’s character being a jobbing actor is a nice touch when considering the many roles the protagonist plays to these straight and gay men, but in truth the piece is held back by its cluttered structure, where Him never really finds much value in himself other than what he can contribute to someone else. Exploitation, and even assault, is treated flippantly, with the play’s brevity meaning nothing lingers long enough to take hold.
Elliott Rogers, who multi-roles as several of Him’s love interests and hookups, is impressive at shifting between characters with speed, though none of the roles makes it past caricature in the writing. This is hindered too by Jade Anouka’s Dani, a voiceover who helps bridge the gap between the play’s episodes, but whose relationship with Him implodes disproportionately after a missed encounter. It is the play’s inability to contain the characters’ emotions, leaning on erupting, erratic behaviours, that pulls Tell Me Straight away from making much of an impression in the weaker half of the production.
In Aggy, Bradshaw’s writing is more nuanced, making this half of the evening the more engaging. The play centres upon artist and content creator Lawrence (Matthew Jordan) and their relationship with the more serious Mahlik (Jean-Luke Worrell). What starts as a piece about connection and interaction becomes something much darker and intriguing as Lawrence’s desire for online success sees him performatively assert a false non-binary identity, using online identity politics as a tool to earn money and make it big, even if it is a lie.
Lawrence’s moral decline is brought to the fore with great aplomb by Jordan, especially in the latter half of this play’s hour as the character is drawn towards the intoxicating Rex (Jack Gittins), whose success pulls Lawrence, now Law, into increasingly questionable behaviours. Yet it is Worrell’s Mahlik who is the most compelling, with conversations about race and identity blurring. It is Mahlik who suggests the initial deception before reacting with appropriate horror at seeing Law’s new, fabricated life.
Aggy is a much more interesting play, and one that could be even stronger expanded into a full-length work. The play’s brevity means conversations are a little contrived and feel a bit too cynical about people’s ability to self-identify, almost dismissed at times as a fad, which does not appear to be the real aim of Bradshaw’s writing, but an unfortunate symptom of the speed a one-act play requires. Matt Powell’s video designs are terrific in bringing us quickly into Law and Rex’s likes-driven online world, but the play’s most tense encounter feels forced as it tries to reach its conclusion too urgently.
There is a clear aim in both works, with both being an intense, brief excavation of the intersection between queer sexuality and identity. However, both pieces are ultimately hindered by their brevity, falling back on heavy-handed dialogue, repetitive structures, and shallow character development that prevent either story from realising its full potential.
