Porn Play ★★★★★
Porn Play by Sophia Chetin-Leuner spirals into the surreal in its world premiere at The Royal Court’s upstairs theatre.
Porn Play, a beautifully complex work starring Ambika Mod (This Is Going To Hurt), opens with a bizarre sequence that prepares you for the vulnerability that’s to come from all actors. Lizzy Connolly playfully embodies a Narcissus character, bending down into a spiral pit of cushions, uplit with an electric blue, fascinated by her ‘reflection’, laying the foundation for a play about perception and identity. Later on, Lizzy Connolly appears again as a recurring temptress, embodying addiction. Porn Play is not restricted by naturalism or a strict plot; it conveys feeling, metaphor and a bold message.
Porn Play follows Ani (Ambika Mod), a grieving 30-year-old successful academic who hides an addiction to violent pornography. Mod is the only actor who doesn’t multirole and is the most three-dimensional. The non-linear play spans about a month, leading up to the anniversary of her mother’s death. As the performance unfolds, and Ani is suckered deeper into addiction, a series of darkly funny, authentic and thoughtfully choreographed scenes happen, ending with an uncomfortable but gracefully delivered monologue from Asif Khan. Throughout, brutal physicality is contrasted with hyper-naturalistic dialogue to make you uneasy but reflective. To enhance such tension, successful comedic moments weave into the play nicely. Will Close plays a sex-mad chauvinist who’s earned a ‘big bonus’ that gets you laughing out loud! Until he reveals his desire to rape women. These shifts in tone happen throughout and critique the way discussions about pornography happen in general. Porn Play dares you to look inwards.
Josie Rourke interestingly directs the actors around Mod to have little depth of character and emotion. They appear flat for the most part, and, initially, this awkwardness is worrying and confusing. Some scenes feel slow and unnecessary due to the sheer length of some monologues that lack feeling. But when you consider the dehumanising nature of Ani’s addiction and the violent pornography she consumes, it’s clear that she actually cannot see people as humans capable of feeling. Rourke’s risky direction pays off and is actually very clever. The audience is intended to view this play through Ani’s numbed perception; the viewer is intended to realise the loneliness of being a woman who suffers with this addiction in silence. Rourke’s direction is an unconventional but healthy aid to an already intelligent script.
The play incorporates repetition (of movements, words, and scenes) that adds to the feeling of slowness, but it signifies Ani’s self-destructive cycle and the harshness of the erotic. Audre Lorde once defined the erotic as ‘a resource within each of us […], firmly rooted in the power of our unexpressed or unrecognised feeling’. Porn Play indeed explores the shaky foundations beneath the erotic, especially when Ani’s compulsions are rooted in unexpressed grief. It is worth sitting through the slowness and unpicking Chetin-Leuner’s political and sincerely subtextual script.
To immerse you, Yimei Zhao’s set is symbolic and surreal. It’s cosy, intimate, and at first glance, quite womb-like. There are no allocated seats; audience members are seated on backless, raised benches in the round and asked to wear shoe coverings. The whole space is padded with carpet and cushions, spiralling down into a pit that becomes the stage. Actors pull props and furniture out of the seams. In a particularly powerful scene, Ani visits the GP because she has harmed her vulva. Accompanied by an excruciating sound effect by Helen Skiera, the set is ripped apart to bring out an enormous examination table. This feels disturbing to watch because of its symbolism. Ani’s perception of sexuality and genitalia is warped; the tearing of seams mirrors the way her sexual desires become self-harm. Metaphors like this are one reason to experience Porn Play, and it’s a successfully evocative choice made by Josie Rourke and Yimei Zhao.
With Chetin-Launer’s boldly vulnerable script, Josie Rourke’s unapologetic direction, and thoughtful set design, Porn Play is a triple threat. Porn Play is relevant because it gets you to sympathise with an unlikeable woman in a typically male position. In discourse around pornography, women are largely written off as passive consumers or actors – victims of the industry – because it serves the stereotype that women are subservient. But Porn Play refreshingly offers a more honest and complicated story of a woman, driven by shame, actively addicted to the very thing that hurts her. It is controversial but incredibly powerful and honest. This message belongs on stage; it wouldn’t resonate anywhere else.
Viewers should not expect to understand Porn Play in the way they would a Shakespeare, or a Churchill, or even a Pinter. Porn Play urges you to forget about understanding and plunges you into a voyeuristic position that is wonderfully turbulent and all about feeling. It is worth submitting yourself to this perception-altering experience
A sincerely surreal and subversive story, bound to sucker you in – ★★★★★ 5 stars
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