TIL FEB 9

16
BEGINNING
Ambassadors Theatre
Everyone knows you go to parties to
meet members of the opposite sex (or
same sex) in order to have sex with
them. Perhaps. Eventually. The
possibility is exciting and daunting.
In David Eldridge’s new play – a two
hander set in a suitably trendy London
suburb where thirty-somethings struggle
to buy a 1 bed – a young woman has
thrown a housewarming party for her
new flat and now stands amidst the
empty bottles and full ashtrays, offering
a young man the chance to stay over.
Why not?
But this is where the problem with
‘Beginning’ begins. Laura (Justine
Mitchell) is beautiful, slim, classy. She
wears sparkly heels which make her look
like a model and she is the owner of a
piece of enviable real estate. She is
Justine Mitchell.
Johan Persson.
Justine Mitchell and Sam Troughton in Beginning by David Eldridge.
feisty and articulate and pretty clear that
she wants to have sex with Danny for
her own reasons.
Danny (Sam Troughton) is a short,
tubby Essex boy down on his luck since
(not to spoil any of the surprises) past
relationships have not worked out too
well and he is living back at his Mum’s
house. He even has a prominent ketchup
stain on his tight-fitting shirt and his
vocabulary rarely extends beyond a few
hundred words.
Never did Beauty and the Beast look
less likely to be recreated than in this
scenario, where the more fascinating
emotions of vulnerability and modern
day loneliness take a back seat to class
issues and, yes, property ownership.
There is talk of love at first sight. Talk,
that is. Obviously a drama is largely
dialogue and this inverted drawing room
comedy, where two people struggle to
Johan Persson.
get to know each other in a squalid
travesty of what a Victorian living room
might once have been, has plenty of
that. It cannot cut to the bedroom antics
as that would leave no one on stage and
yet – despite the valiant efforts of
Mitchell and Troughton – nor can it
entertain us with unresolved sexual
tension. There is none.
Instead, we are treated to long
periods of physical awkwardness and a
jarring sort of conversation which may
or may not contain nuggets of truth
about the pernicious effects of social
media and the local housing crisis as it
affects young people.
Sometimes it makes you laugh, but
mostly it makes your toes curl. And just
to warn you that the climactic sex scene
involves fish finger sandwiches with
both ketchup and mayo.
Sue Webster
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