Slippery ★★★★

Something’s cooking in the kitchen, and Neil Sedaka’s ‘Breaking Up Is Hard To Do’ should be playing in the background. But this is not the 70s; it is contemporary London in an open-plan living space apartment where Jude (John McCrea) and Kyle (Perry Williams) have a conversation that should have happened 10 years earlier when Kyle suddenly left their relationship. The discussion possibly would have never happened but for Jude’s accident earlier that evening. Why, after 10 years of no contact, would Kyle be summoned as Jude’s sole ICE (In Case of Emergency) contact?

It’s 3am, and having just returned from A&E, Kyle is in the kitchen while Jude is in the bathroom (off-set). The opening dialogue is sprinkled with camp, sarcastic wit, and peppered with comic hyperbole that borders on the kind of bitchiness that gives a sense of the pair’s comfortable familiarity. The comedy of Kyle dancing around the room trying to distract himself from the urgent need to use the loo indicates there are boundaries; their closeness is not so intimate for him to just go to the bathroom while Jude is in there.

Jude’s stark entrance on stage is shocking. The injuries from his accident are extensive, but this doesn’t stop him from setting straight to cooking a spaghetti carbonara. Despite the obvious high-spec surroundings, the toilet doesn’t flush, and the washing machine doesn’t work. This, plus an accidental discovery by Kyle, tells us that Jude is not in his best place…

The play is an exorcising of past memories that have shaped the pair’s current situations. Jude, recently bereaved, is haunted by abandonment and loss, resentful of Kyle’s suddenly leaving their 2-year relationship without saying a word a decade prior. Where Jude is emotionally transparent, Kyle’s non-acknowledgement of his mobile’s persistent phone alerts reflects Kyle’s avoidance and refusal to discuss topics, which, once revealed, are shocking and make his non-disclosures cowardly. He is proudly abstinent from substances, and with a controlled demeanour, he seemingly buffers Jude’s accusations with mockery and gaslighting derision. These are clever devices that reduce Jude to a demanding, needy, and high-maintenance drama queen (watch out for the carbonara)! The echo of their past relationship is like ghostly ether between them. Despite the uncoiling dysfunctionality, there remains affection.

Writer Louis Emmit-Stern’s script demonstrates the complexities of relationships and some of the aspects that make them dysfunctional. Jude doesn’t listen, and Kyle is defensive. While these are not presented as the death knell of their past relationship, successful navigation through past addictions and drug-induced sexual expression/self-determination (one particular episode described by Jude as a “retro German porno”) while struggling against homophobic oppression is shown as having a huge impact. Even in their present state after 10 years, where both face the unknown in different ways, the paths to acts of desperation that could potentially lead to self-sabotage are never far away. The writing shows a deep understanding of the fundamental human physical and psychological needs: a sleep-deprived Jude wants “a f*ck and a cuddle” and is driven by the need to provide food, while a less financially secure Kyle acts unexpectedly when his long-term security is potentially at risk.

It is sometimes difficult to distinguish what is past and present chemistry with the shifting power dynamics between Jude and Kyle, but Emmit-Stern shows the human condition may never fully conquer certain patterns of behaviour due to the underlying motivations that drive them.

Matthew Iliffe directs this play through its themes of loss, abandonment, and the underlying forces of toxicity within relationships with sensitivity and tenderness, steering the piece through intense emotion as well as numerous points of laughter.

McCrae delivers on a brittle, battle-scarred, and unravelling Jude who manages to hold on to something steely within. His speech about the fight for gay marriage is wonderful. Williams, seemingly self-conscious at the start, settles into the role of Kyle and acquits quite well the conflicting, affectionate mockery of his former lover. It becomes clearer over time why the defence mechanisms are in place. There is a discernible transition from Kyle’s camp bitchery to a deeper and more protective concern.

While the set design is more IKEA flatpack than ‘penthouse’ as described in the script, there is a heavy nod to aspirational living, particularly with the props. Cooking in reality while delivering lines is no mean feat; be prepared for strong cooking aromas and watery eyes from peeled onions and flying spaghetti. The sofa scenes are not always visible; its positioning might need reconsidering.

This 80-minute play is absorbing and has warmth at its heart. Combined with humour, Slippery is an honest examination of what makes us human when we have to handle breakups. Like the onion, it makes us cry and shows that life can position us on the same locus, but on a different layer.