Robert Rees and Ashley D Gayle. Photo by Geraint Lewis

Exhibitionists by Shaun McKenna & Andrew Van Sickle – King’s Head Theatre, London

Exhibitionists was intended by its two writers, Shaun McKenna and Andrew van Sickle, to be a comedy in the vein of mid-20^th century screwball capers, but concerned entirely with gay relationships. It revolves around five characters: two couples and a sexy, impossibly Norwegian hotel owner and chef. The latter, played by Øystein Lode, mostly provides straight-man – although not in every sense – comic relief. The two couples both combined an older and younger man. Conor (Ashley D Gayle) and Mal (Jake Mitchell-Jones), Robbie (Robert Rees) and Rayyan (Rolando Montecalvo). Visiting a gallery opening, they run into one another and Conor’s history with Robbie is revealed. Confusion ensues as couples fall apart and reform, while chasing each other around San Francisco.

The concept is promising, and there is both comic mileage and social innovation to be mined from presenting queer men in a stage setting where they are not expected. However, Exhibitionist does not deliver on this promise. The writing is not strong enough to convince the audience that either the characters or the setting are for real. Comedy only works if we believe there is jeopardy, but McKenna and van Sickle’s characters are simply walking clichés – devoted couple who can’t leave other men alone, twink, straight guy who’s discovered he’s gay, Norwegian – and nothing else. The cast work hard, but with dialogue including the line ‘Denial is a river in Egypt’, they are short of material. The art world setting at the start of the play is entirely unconvincing, with people talking about ‘video art’ as though it was a new and controversial thing. Likewise the hotel setting later on, with an unlikely room service menu that keeps getting in the way of the action and creates confusion rather than satire. Lacking a script to provide the motor, director Bronagh Lagan has too little to work with to generate a convincing farce.

Ulimately, Exhibitionists is most disappointing because it is very old-fashioned indeed. This kind of by-the-numbers stage farce died with the dodo, so it is baffling to see it resurrected in a queer context, as though that raise it from the dead.

Photo by Ali Wright.

Cowbois by Charlie Josephine – Royal Court Theatre, London

Published by Plays International

Transferring from Stratford-upon-Avon, Charlie Josephine’s queer fantasy Western breezes into town in a cyclone of colour and exuberance. We are in a nowhere town, somewhere out west. All the men have left to prospect for gold and they have been gone a long time, leaving just the women and the boozed-up sheriff. When the dangerous, sharp-shooting, irresistibly hot outlaw, Jack, arrives on the run everyone gets very excited. Jack is not just any outlaw, but flamboyant, gender-fluid and irresistible. Strict school marms, farm girls, uptight bible-bashers, and respectable married women all find themselves casting social expectations aside and expressing their true selves. Then the men return. 

Cowbois is in many ways a joyful experience. The idea of using the Western genre setting to upend attitudes to gender roles is clever. Cowboy stories are packed with stereotypes, and there is satisfaction in seeing these undermined: the sheriff in a dress, a young woman shaving her head, everyone donning wildly colourful stetsons and silk outfits – triumphant costume design by Grace Smart, who also designed the neat bar-room set. Co-directed by Charlie Josephine and Sean Holmes, with movement by Jennifer Jackson, the production flows beautifully, from energetic set piece dance sequences to small, neat touches, such as Jack whisking a teaspoon from a saucer as though they are drawing a Colt.

The most enjoyable aspect of Cowbois, however, is a series of very entertaining performances. The show is expertly cast, including performers more often seen on fringe stages. Chief among these is the much-loved, under-appreciated Paul Hunter, of Told by An Idiot fame. Remarkably, he last performed with the RSC 20 years ago. His beautiful, subtle, brilliantly physical performance as the Sheriff is sheer delight. Vinnie Heaven is both super-cool and loveable as Jack. Sophie Melville’s bar-owner, Lillian, slides into an amusing sexual trance when she meets Jack. LJ Parkinson plays bounty hunter Charley with comic timing and explosive relish. And Lucy McCormick, better known for her provocative solo shows, gives the teacher, Jayne, a remarkable level of swivel-eyed mania. The evening has a cabaret atmosphere, with performers delivering turns to raucous audience approval.  

However, Cowbois also has some significant limitations. It is too long, with a first half that seems to mark time, and a sex scene between Jack and Lillian, in a pool revealed beneath the stage, that goes on for a long time. More importantly, there is a feeling that, while the show is an admirable celebration of gender difference, it does not tell us much that we do not already know. Despite aiming to undermine expectations, everything turns out the way we would expect. Baddies are baddies, and people who are good at heart come round in the end. The music also seems under-powered. The show keeps threatening to turn into a musical, but the big numbers are not there. 

The link-up between the RSC and the English Stage Company is promising. Cowbois appears to be the first Stratford production to play at the Royal Court, and suits the main stage very well. If the RSC can commission the kind of plays the Royal Court wants to stage, everyone wins. Cowbois has all the right intentions. The message that people can escape their designated roles and be what they want still needs to be shouted from the rooftops, and the RSC has a megaphone. Although flawed, Cowbois is both enjoyable and memorable, helping to give important mainstream recognition to the queer fringe performance scene.

Vanessa Guevara-Flores. Photo by Mark Sepple.

Kin by Amit Lahav – National Theatre: Lyttleton, London

Published by Plays International

Founded in 2001, Gecko Theatre are a collective with an unmistakable style born, literally, from years of preparation. Remarkably Amit Lahav, founding artistic director and performer, spends at least three years with his performers researching, exploring ideas, and storyboarding to develop a show. The latest, Kin, was commissioned by the National Theatre and explores migration and ideas of home.

The cast of nine transform from a cohort of drunken border guards into groups seeking refuge and experiencing the fear and humiliation of rejection. Gecko perform in a style that fills a gap you never knew existed between contemporary dance and theatre. They move in highly stylized ways that are dance-based but illustrative, and always strangely compelling. The cast advance like fencers, stride in low lunges, sway together like a field of wheat in the wind, and pile themselves into a celebratory tower. They dance constantly.

Movement is at the heart of Kin, but there is language too: just not in the way we have learned to expect on stage. Characters talk constantly, but in multiple different languages from around the world. These are the mother tongues of the cast members, whose stories of immigration the show tells. They range from an escape from Yemen to Palestine in the 1930s to scenes escaping conflict and taking small boats that relate to what is going on right now around Europe. We may not speak the language, but the audience has little doubt what is happening. When a single segment of English breaks into the verbatim accounts of being a refugee, it hits hard.

Kin also has an impressive visual impact which ties its themes together. The stories spread across nearly a century, but the overall look is very Gecko, with mid-20th-century costumes (by designer Rhys Jarman) and middle European music (composed by Dave Price) – Kafka and klezmer. It translates cleverly to the large Lyttelton stage which is a dark space illuminated by pools of light, often provided in unconventional ways by lighting designer Chris Swain. At one point a family scene is entirely lit by a small television set, an electric fire, and a standard lamp, carried by characters dancing in a circle. The stage is shaped like an island, white cliffs gleaming around the edges. There are some stunning moments, including a family from India wiping their faces with clothes that turn their skin white.

While repetition is part of the point of Kin, with different generations experiencing the same discrimination, it causes some drift during the middle of the show as narrative threads become harder to distinguish. However, its emotional and political heft cannot be questioned. The final scene, in which the cast tells us who they really are, where they come from, and where they live, is a moving moment.

The issues this show examines – what happens to people caught up in circumstances outside their control who want to find a home – could not be more relevant. With political discourse on immigration in the UK more extreme than at any point in recent memory, the timing is perfect for a play about humanity and the value of human life. Both Gecko and National Theatre director Rufus Norris should be congratulated on bringing this urgent, beautiful, and devastating show to a big stage.

Photo: Marc Brenner

Cold War – book by Conor McPherson, music by Elvis Costello, based on the film by Paweł Pawlikowski – Almeida Theatre, London

Cold War, adapted from Paweł Pawlikowski’s 2018 film, is a dark story about dislocation. Wiktor and Zula leave their Polish folk singing troupe to escape the control of the 1950s Communist regime, but freedom in Paris does not solve their problems. The film, in black and white, has a charged atmosphere and air of strangeness that is sadly lacking in the Almeida’s musical version, by stellar pair Conor McPherson and Elvis Costello. Rupert Goold pulled off a triumph with Tammy Faye, by the equally exciting combination of James Graham, Jake Shears and Elton John, but Cold War does not repeat the trick. It is far too conventional a musical, taking flight when the dialogue builds tension, then dissipating it immediately with the next musical number.

The production strengths are movement, directed by Ellen Kane, and ensemble performance, with some dramatic Polish folk song and dance numbers and a wild ‘Rock Around the Clock’. Costello music sounds just like songs written for a musical, lacking distinctive character. The set by Jon Bausor – shabby piano, distressed interior – remains the same in Poland and France, from era to era, lacking any sense of place. Of the cast, Anya Chalotra as Zula has energy and strength, and Elliot Levey, always reliable, plays older impresario Kaczmarek very well. But the show takes itself very seriously indeed and, as a result, never achieves the levels of glee that made Tammy Faye a hit.

A They in a Manger by Wardrobe and Sons – Camden People’s Theatre, London

Four queer performers tie their diverse acts together with the help of a wardrobe, built by Em Tanner. A They in a Manger is appealing home-made, with the artists looking as though they’ve been rummaging through the Camden People’s Theatre dressing-up box. Anømaly pole dances in a style very much their own, blurring gender boundaries and expectations right, left and centre. They also do an excellent Grinch, Danielle James is vulnerable, funny as she challenges our assumptions in an entirely different way, and displays an impressive singing voice. Vijay Patel lip-syncs Olivia Newton-John’s Xanadu with heart and soul. And Len Blanco, drag king and, apparently, ex-member of a Welsh boy band called M4. hosts the evening with style, humour and a lot of personality. The show, directed by Frankie Thompson, is a perfect CPT alternative Christmas offering.