A Body at Work

Frankie Van Kan’s A Body at Work is billed as ‘confessional theatre’.  But ‘confession’ has connotations of shame or embarrassment, and there is not a trace of either in this show.  On the contrary, Van Kan’s aim is to dispel both.  Her show is a contradiction of cliches and prejudice – a demystification of sex work and the human body.  It’s a memoir of her life, loves and work in the ‘sex industry’ – as a dancer (table, lap, pole), stripper, full-blown sex-worker, masseuse and now a writer and natural comedian - from the age of seventeen to the present. Her body is her body and her tool of trade.  Her show is an illuminating, funny, sometimes satirical story of her work, of how she has loved, performed, displayed, excited, pleasured – herself and others - and soothed with that body.  And it is all delivered with a perfect control of tone – calm, confident, ironic, funny, matter of fact, and beguiling.  She draws you in, you laugh at the absurdities, you think and accept, you travel with her.

I first saw this show in January 2024 at La Mama HQ.  It played back then in that very small and therefore intimate space in which Van Kan could move around the audience, close enough to touch.  It meant she confided in us.  At the much larger Theatre Works space, Van Kan is ‘on stage’, the audience is at a greater distance, and the show is more of a show – so to speak – even if the material per se hasn’t changed that much.  So, this is some of what I wrote about her marvellous show back in January 2024.

To demystify her body, Frankie Van Kan begins by stripping off a tracksuit, down to nothing but a bra and G-string.  Then, to get any prurience, titillation, ‘mystery’ and even eroticism out of the way, the G-string comes off too and Frankie displays her genitals (‘puss’ as she puts it) in a variety of faux provocative poses for all to see.  There are not too many shocked gasps at this; mostly there’s laughter. Why not?  Her puss isn’t funny; it’s the blatant display.

Her non-speaking stooge (heavily bearded Daniel Newell), who plays the recurring representative of mostly inadequate, sad or twisted blokes, takes a Polaroid close-up – and is just thrilled at what he thinks is some kind of naughty achievement.  For Frankie, it’s just her body – at work.  Very soon, for us, the spectacle of a strong-bodied, mostly naked woman becomes, well, normal (but still beautiful). 

The show’s text began as a memoir on which Frankie’s been working.  Memoirs are notoriously difficult to shape into dramatic form and Frankie acknowledges her collaboration with the multi-talented Maude Davey.  The material is, of course, most congenial for Davey who in her own shows has raised such themes as the liberation of the female body and female sexuality.  Here, Frankie’s story plays in more or less chronological order as she matures and develops as a woman.  Proud from the start of her body and eager to show it off.  She asserts that has always enjoyed her work and the sexuality of it.  She says that she has never felt exploited – even when she was being exploited - or mauled or demeaned by misogynist or just scared blokes.  The first time she had sex for money, it felt ‘clean’ because it was clear-cut – pleasure for cash without the hang-ups.  As she tells it, she’s in charge, never the victim.  (That is, as we know, only half the sex worker story – but this is Frankie’s story.)

She revels in her memories of her lesbian lovers with a lush sensuality – and humour.  A particular piece of irony comes when she is performing (her sex work is very much about performing) with a male client while dreaming of a long and delicious encounter with a lesbian lover.  We watch her take a bath, and flick water from her hair across the stage. This is ‘sexy’ but in context it’s funny too.  She diverts into the ‘Mother versus Whore’ bind, and – with the help of the bloke - sends it up hilariously with a serious of unmistakable religious art tableaus – Frankie as the (naked) Virgin Mary, the bloke as an angel or Joseph, or a Wise Man.  We watch Frankie give the generic bloke a ‘happy ending’ with an cool, objective running commentary on the male orgasm – again demystifying her ‘work’ – and getting more laughs.

But toward the end, her tone becomes softer, more longing.  Frankie has a different task, different work for her body.  Work that only a female body can do.

Michael Brindley