Terry Johnson’s The Sex Party is a surprisingly misconceived undertaking on the Menier Chocolate Factory
“I’m going to need a drink or three”
There’s one thing deeply miserable about esteemed writers and creative administrators embracing the notion of antiwoke so wholeheartedly, as if the world of theatre is the place to disclose how antediluvian your attitudes [possibly] are. Worse is the pretence that is the place to create a bit of theatre from, notably when it purports to be tackling these sorts of gammon-enraging up to date matters.
What are they? Well take your decide, The Sex Party takes no prisoners in attempting to impress after which working away. Alex is internet hosting a intercourse celebration in his swanky Islington residence (as a result of, the place else would he dwell…) together with his a lot youthful associate Hetty and as he’s invited a proper combination of poorly-written contributors, the stage is about for (offstage) mediocre middle-class, middle-aged marriage malarkey with a weirdly dated 90s body of reference.
So far so cringe-worthy however the arrival of Lucy brings Johnson’s true function into focus as everyone seems to be fairly certain she’s trans and so he lastly will get to stoke the tradition wars discourse as a result of…effectively, who the fuck is aware of. Suddenly, the passing feedback about Twitter being full of individuals pontificating about which they know little grow to be splendidly hypocritical as manufactured debate additional lengthen the embarrassment.
Johnson cheats by having the inventory Russian character ship probably the most overtly transphobic feedback (at the very least to start out with) below cowl of being the ‘frank’ one, while the Brits all step gingerly across the thought of confronting the matter. And his contrived approach of forcing his hot-button points to the fore is epically ham-fisted, requiring an asisine dialog with somebody complaining that there’s no black or homosexual individuals on the orgy. It’s all simply so pointless.
Maybe a part of the problem is Johnson directing his personal materials, the place an exterior pair of eyes might need been capable of mitigate at the very least a number of the issues – the old fashioned sexism is so predictable (ladies of their lingerie, males with a shirt open at greatest). You nearly begin to really feel for the solid – Lisa Dwan and Kelly Price are too good for this, Jason Merrells and John Hopkins respectable eye sweet if we’re being as shallow because the play, Pooya Mohseni one way or the other discovering some dignity as Lucy, Oscar-winner Timothy Hutton inexplicably making his London stage debut right here – the coolness of their response on the curtain name says all of it.