Cock

For those of us still workshopping it, there’s now a big alphabetical range from which to label your sexuality. You can identify yourself from the ever-expanding LGBTQQIP2SAA or, perhaps ideally, just sleep and love between the definitions, with whoever takes you.

The choice once seemed more limited – gay or straight – and is so in Mike Bartlett’s play from 2008, Cock, a witty title using a very icon of gay (male) identity.

Just when indecisive John is thinking of leaving his still passionate lover of seven years, simply M, he accidentally meets a woman, W, and their attraction is mutual despite John having never been attracted to women.  He now loves the joys of vaginas and talks of babies ahead.

W calls a summit dinner back home with John to meet the new woman and M’s Dad, F, is a surprise addition bringing fire power to W’s attempt to win back the gay John.  It’s a powerful scene and conclusion.

A convincing ensemble strut widely around Casey Moon-Watton’s sleek white octagonal stage backed by wire fencing.  It’s a cockfight, you see, although Grace Satmnas’ spirited W holds her own in the fight for straight John.  As the author asserts, the stage is free of any props, furniture or miming of such things, presumably to keep on with the ever-moving cockfight.

It’s a good metaphor although the generalised movement of argument does tire, especially with Bartlett’s minimal backstory for each character.  Sure, it suggests a universality of theme, the straightjacket of these old (and new) sexual labels, but as explored in this story,  we’re robbed of empathy and much interest in these four. More pace in Darrin Redgate’s otherwise witty and provocative production would have skipped over these cracks.

Stephen Schofield’s John is attractive but annoys us all, on and off stage, with his inexplicable inability to choose. He plays him frozen and depressive, bringing some sympathy for John but onstage little energy for either lover.