REVIEW | Exhibitionists, King’s Head Theatre
Written by Franco Milazzo for Theatre & Tonic
Disclaimer: Gifted tickets in exchange for an honest review.
Call it an homage, an update or a reboot but when the two playwrights behind Exhibitionists came up with what basically boils down to a predictable and hammy retread of Noel Coward’s Private Lives, shouldn’t they at least have namechecked him in the programme?
A study in jealousy, fidelity and Scandi food, Shaun McKenna and Andrew Van Sickle’s gay romcom sees two supposedly stable couples come to new realisations. Disney lawyer Conor (Ashley D Gale) and starchitect Robbie (Robert Rees) once had an open relationship until Conor developed feelings for another and Robbie developed feelings for alcohol. Now the pair have apparently moved on and are, unbeknownst to each other, both at the same viewing with their new partners. When the old lovers inevitably meet, will the sparks fly once more? And what will this mean for Conor’s husband Mal (Jake Mitchell-Jones) and Robbie’s wannabe-fiance Rayyan (Rolando Montecalvo)?
A second act sees the foursome retreat to a hotel run by a Norwegian chef/manager Sebastian (Øystein Lode). How he doesn’t end up throwing this self-centred bunch out of his establishment a few minutes after meeting them is possibly the second least believable part of the play (how he ends up in bed with two of them is only slightly more questionable). All five eventually go through a painfully unfunny session of couples therapy led by Sebastian and a wooden spoon.
Exhibitionists is the opening show for the new King’s Head Theatre, a move which has taken a decade to realise. The venue is only a few feet away from its previous base in the back of an Upper Street pub but the vibe is very different. Sure, the staff are just as friendly and the programme is still skewed towards LGBTQ+ content but the new setup doesn’t compare well: say goodbye to ground level access, decent sightlines and leg room, say hello to four flights of stairs, a broken lift and narrow, raked seating.
Adding misery to injury is McKenna and Van Sickle’s frankly charmless script which somehow manages to pad out ninety minutes sans interval with a limp story, telegraphed plotlines, scarce laughs and clunky dialogue (“Don’t disappear into dipsomania!” Conor tells Robbie at one point). As the less and less credible coincidences pile up higher and higher, the direction from Bronagh Lagan is generally pacy but more redolent of ‘70s farces than the ‘30s screwball comedies cited by the writers. Of the actors, only Lode is notable in a positive fashion; his earnest performance somehow rises above the blazing car crash around him.
At King’s Head Theatre until 10 February.
☆ ☆
