Four Play. Kings Head Theatre.

Jack Brunger’s comedy drama about the pitfalls of open relationships, Four Play, emerged over a decade ago as part of the Old Vic’s New Voices writing programme. Since then, the young writer has enjoyed significant success, most notably in musical theatre. Director Jack Sain delivers a dose of frothy light comedy in the first half of this revival at the King’s Head Theatre, aided by a notable performance from emerging non-binary talent Jo Foster. Ten years on, though, the ponderous, laugh-free second half feels dated, preachy, and perilously close to spiralling into the theatrical equivalent of slut-shaming.

On the surface, improbably naïve Rafe (Lewis Cornay charts a journey from ditzy milquetoast to cynical victimhood) and his assertive corporate-type boyfriend Pete (Zheng Xi Yong does his best with an underwritten role) have a perfect relationship. Together since university, they enjoy not-so-gentle bickering, a commodious flat, a private personal trainer, and the satisfaction of seven years of monogamy (“seven-and-a-half years if we’re being specific”, finicky Rafe informs us).

Under the surface, things with the couple are not quite so rosy. Pete wonders what it would be like to have sex with somebody different, specifically, he wants a Dom to “bite me, throw me around, and spit on me”. Rafe, who likes massage oils and being made to feel special, would prefer getting a terrier to infidelity but reluctantly agrees the couple should open up “one time, only one, one after the other”.  But who to choose for consecutive rumpy-pumpy and, once opened, can the Pandora’s box of the duo’s sexual experimentation ever be “done, dusted, and swept back under the carpet”?

Hunky personal trainer Michael (Daniel Bravo simmers and occasionally smoulders) and his quirky, non-binary partner, Andy (Jo Foster on top form delivers some blissfully comic eye-rolling), also seem happy on the surface. Their relationship is consensually open, subject to clearly agreed and seemingly well-communicated rules. But bubbling underneath, resentments fester. One partner takes substantially more advantage of their relationship freedoms than does the other. Rules, trust, and the mutual determination to “go with the flow” are put to the test. Jealousy and suspicion raise their serpentine heads.

Brunger accurately evokes the ongoing challenges of negotiating terms in an open relationship, but, irksomely, foregrounds this as the entirety of Michael and Andy’s presumably more complex life. One suspects that this duo has other things to attend to and other aspects to their connection beyond hooking up with random strangers, but of these, we hear little.

When approached by Rafe and Pete to take part in what is, in effect, two evenings of unpaid and over-scripted sex work, one might suppose Michael would politely tell the lads where to get off. Or at least charge them a whack for it. That he chooses to go along with their self-serving request, while agreeing to lie to Andy about it, is a narrative improbability that is hard to swallow. Presumably, the gym bunny’s motivation is cynical vanity, though it is never really explained. Events unfold, not necessarily to the advantage of either couple. The emotional climax comes at a car crash dinner party between the quartet, where revelations emerge, accusations fly, and a (voluminous) quantity of duplicity is revealed.

Brunger’s theme in Four Play seems to be that while gay and straight couples have equally to grapple with challenges of commitment and fear of missing out, gay culture adds an additional strain in its (supposed) promotion of open relationships at the expense of monogamy. It is an interesting argument, one that has been rehearsed, better, elsewhere. You may feel that whatever truth it contains is partial at best.

If the job of the writer is to inspire debate, then Brunger succeeds in Four Play. The comedy is deftly penned, but he might be better served if his characters elicited more empathy. Andy’s plaintive demand, “Why didn’t you choose me?” is directed not at the partner they profess to love, but at Rafe and Pete. The extent of Michael’s self-loathing epiphany goes little beyond the homophobic conclusion that, in effect, gay men would be happier if we were not such sluts. You may find it hard to care what happens to these people or understand why they got together in the first place.

Peiyao Wang’s set, a sparsely furnished rectangular living room edged with bare copper water pipes, evokes the claustrophobic, naval-gazing milieu these couples inhabit. One cannot help but wonder whether the ever-fastidious Rafe and the pompous deceiver Pete wouldn’t just have a carpenter come by and box those pipes in. Brunger boxes his characters in and makes them squirm. It is amusing at first, but later on it sticks mightily in the craw.

Writer:   Jake Brunger

Director:    Jack Sain