Husband and wife, Kas and Jacq, have been running a Turkish restaurant in London for nearly two years. Post-pandemic, they had a concept for keeping people separated, tended to by their own personal chefs. But the slog has been tough and they’ve decided to call it a day. Now they have to break the news to their friends, Tobin and Adaego, who invested heavily in Jacq’s dream project.
Never
Have I Ever by
Deborah Frances-White dives head first into the disastrous dinner party milieu that
has long been a staple of theatre. The show has a lot of things on its mind and
where a lot of other plays might pit different generations against each other,
Frances-White divides by gender, class, race and ethics. It’s a delicious stew.
Set during a long boozy night at the restaurant, elegantly designed by Zoe Rouse, with its multi-level playing space and a couple of private nooks where the characters can go one-on-one, the drama swerves from one uncomfortable confrontation to the next.
Simon Gleeson plays Tobin, the cis white straight man with all the money and privilege. He claims to be the most woke person in the room, even though his wife is a woman of colour and Kas is an immigrant from India. He’s so woke, he doesn’t even like to use the word “woke” because it’s cultural appropriation. And he’s right, but don’t let him know that, or he’ll mansplain everything to you. He starts as arrogant and becomes irredeemable, which is a hell of a story arc. Gleeson relishes the role, strutting around like he owns the place. And he kinda does.
Chika
Ikogwe is Tobin’s wife Adaego and she’s been friends with Jacq and Kas since
uni. Their friendship is deep and long and more complicated than it first
appears. Ikogwe owns the stage every time she is at the centre of the action –
standing her ground, while talking about what it’s like to live as a black woman, suffering microaggresions every day, but never being seen to be angry.
Katie
Robinson and Sunny S Walia’s Jacq and Kas are as tight in their relationship –
not yet married – as Tobin and Adageo are at odds. We see them early on, before
the others arrive, being genuinely affectionate, and talking about their
current predicament and the struggles they have. It’s easy to like them,
because Jacq’s dreams are relatable and Kas’ struggle to keep everything light,
even at the darkest moments, is admirable.
Frances-White’s
script is robust in its arguments, is genuinely funny as it muscles through a
minefield of hot button issues and gives its characters clear motivations –
even as it slides through murky ethical territory. Early in the show, the conversations
about politics and identity made it feel like an “issues play” where you worry
the characters might get short shrift for political point scoring. But there
are enough shifts of power to keep things knotty and interesting.
Director Tasnim
Hossain keeps things moving at a brisk pace, with the skips through time –
deeper and deeper into the night – being boldly lit by Rachel Lee.
The second act
isn’t quite as tight, with the arguments feeling like they could go on for a
lifetime – if they haven’t already. These sort of conversational, one-room
plays are tricky to wind down because it’s hard to know who should get the last
word. Especially with these four, because whoever wraps things up is going to
piss the others off.
Never
Have I Ever is intelligent, challenging and hilarious. The constant build up surprises and shocks. Even if these mostly-middle class characters are leading generally comfortable lives, there’s enough
in their lived experience and relationships to keep the drama simmering until
it well and truly boils over.
- Keith Gow, Theatre First
Never Have I Ever is on at Arts Centre Melbourne until March 22
Photos: Sarah Walker
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