The titillating title of the play alludes to the play’s bisexual love triangle as well as the brutal influence of cockfighting on the piece. A contemporary classic of British drama, Cock, penned by Mike Bartlett, is a taut piece of playwriting, each scene escalating towards a deliciously inevitable showdown.

Bartlett opens by dropping us right in the middle of an argument between our protagonist John (Jack Buchanan) and his longtime boyfriend M (Simon Leary). From the first venomous word, we have an immediate understanding of this toxic relationship dynamic. John quickly jumps ship and abandons the relationship, only to come running back almost immediately. The catch? John’s fallen for a woman, W (Karin McCracken). Let the games begin. [More] 

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

Stripped back – no scenery, props or mime – Cock mimics the real-life rhythm of daily interactions and fights between people who love each other.

It’s raw, at times brutal and confrontational but everyone in the audience on Saturday night was brought into the intense action on the stage.

Shane Bosher’s tight direction and choreographic moves, bring to life the sharp, and witty play. Intimate moments are very close and the actors are far removed to emphasise distance. [More] 

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

Don’t be put off by the title. While the male appendage does get more than one mention, it’s more relevant to think ‘cock of the walk’: two gay roosters in a yard, once happy together now circling and pecking at each other, building up to a cock fight – until one leaps the fence to find himself surprised by a hen. Metaphorical weapons are cocked and sometimes fired. In the end a fight for possession, involving two cocks, the hen and an older rooster, does play out.

With Cock, British playwright Mike Bartlett cocks an eye, but not a snoot, at 20-somethings’ sex, sexuality and identity issues and what it might take for relationships to endure. We, in the audience, get to consider whose views are the most cock-eyed and who may turn out to have the capacity to perceive the long term with a realistic eye, and some appreciation of how to navigate towards it. Meanwhile the promises one character makes turn out to be cock-and-bull because, let’s face it, he’s a chicken.

The stage, designed and lit by Sean Lynch, is a blank page – white unless briefly soaked in another colour – that spreads over the floor and up one wall. Upon this the players strut, fret and venture towards intimacy as we each project our empathy, understanding and imaginations onto their interactions. While things do get very explicit at times, no-one takes their clothes off or touches each other in a sexual way, apart from some kissing (as per the pix).

Some YouTube clips suggest other productions have resorted to furniture and props, but director Shane Bosher honours what I understand to be the original intention (as played in the 2011 premiere at the Royal Court Theatre in London): no furniture, props or mime. There is a textual reference: John and M have been together for seven years and one of the irritants is that M is into minimalism while John “likes stuff”.

Initially, then, it seems as though Cock may just be all talk but gradually, as the plot thickens, it grows on you. It’s like watching a film played out in multiple locations with all but the people removed: the dynamics of the action are somehow enhanced by our having to fill in the details.

Although John, the only named character, begins as indecisive and by the end he’s not so sure, two people want him as their partner. This makes it a challenging role which Jack Buchanan rises to with alacrity, using no superfluous tricks to win us over; just finding the truth in each moment of confusion, need, fear, anger, dismay, awe, joy … thereby earning our empathy, despite the frustration we might feel at John’s self-stifling self-involvement.

M, whose flat they inhabit when the play opens, seems much more mature and self-assured but, in Simon Leary’s beautifully modulated performance, his tendency to get picky and critical turns out to be a defence mechanism against his vulnerability. Are his behaviours entirely justified or is he is own worst enemy? Leary ensures we care enough to keep asking.

Karin McCracken is perfectly cast as W, aged 28. She presents as free-spirited and super independent, in the wake of her premature marriage at 23 and divorce two years later. The scene where she initiates John into the wonders of heterosexual coitus is exquisitely tender. We cannot but share her turmoil of emotions when other urges – be they romantic, maternal or simply the desire to win – drive her into behaviours she’ll probably kick herself for.  

As for the ‘older rooster’, F, whose identity I won’t specify, Matt Chamberlain brings a solid grounding to the role. For a moment I fear this is a rather unsubtle device for spelling out the existential question – “Who are you really?” – that has lurked intriguingly in the subtext but Chamberlain quickly humanises the voice of an older generation that has had to grow apace with social change and continues to do so.

The thrust space seating plan offers audiences the opportunity, from two of the three sides at least, to watch the play with a live backdrop of responsive faces and body language. This adds to the richness of a ‘less-is-more’ experience that can almost be described as immersive.

Lest I have suggested it is overly earnest, this play about people swirling about in space as they try and fail to make lasting connections, it must be added that many huge laughs break out on opening night – as a testament to our attentiveness and connection. While it may not be about the most important issues facing humanity, Cock does grippingly address questions that preoccupy the thoughts and feeling of many people a great deal of the time. 

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer