Review: The MP, Aunt Mandy & Me (King's Head Theatre)

Review by Sam Waite

Finding a following on social media can feel like an impossible pursuit at times – as can finding real intimacy as a gay man in a small Northern town. Both combine as the plight of Dom, protagonist of Rob Ward’s The MP, Aunt Mandy & Me, now playing at the King’s Head Theatre. In attempting to save a train station, he enters a world of sex, scandal, and questionable consent.

The stage, with only two of the King’s Head’s three sections of seating in use, is framed by industrial lights and dominated by a white sheet. The image is clear and concise – someone is using this space for their photo shoot. Already seated in the space before the show begins, we meet Dom – ironically “a total sub bottom” in his own words – as a young man with a wealth of knowledge around trains and railway systems, a want to blow up on #InstaGay socials, and living with a mum usually high on MDMA. His Aunty Mandy, as she calls it, is what gets her through the day, but even she can see it’s high time Dom got a job and found himself a bit of purpose.

Through an ill-advised visit to his local MP, Peter Edwards, at the encouragement of old friend Alan, dim-witted Dom fumbles his way into a social media job on Peter’s campaign. Admittedly, Ward’s script does ask for a suspension of disbelief into setting its scene – Dom’s most-liked gym selfie clocked in at 97 likes, and his primary ambition is to clear 100 while his idols are regularly hitting a minimum of 3000. While it's obvious that Peter is hiring Dom at least partly out of attraction, you do have to ignore the voice of reason questioning how his HR team allowed this guy to take charge of anything.

Fortunately, Ward has created in Dom such a charming, easy to root for protagonist that it’s easy enough to set aside this leap in logic. His handful of characters, all self-performed, are all distinctive and distinguished with shifts in both accent and body language. Ward’s performance is strongest as Dom, partly due to how much more time is given to the character and partly because he is who the emotional highs and lows of the play most impact. Genuine humour and kind-heartedness keep Dom’s lack of intellect from becoming an annoyance, and when the story calls for sorrow and pain, Ward is more than able to delve into darker territory and bring heartbreak to the surface.

Beyond the unlikely lead-up to Dom and Peter’s working relationship, the script is strong and often painfully believable. Peter, a gay man himself and with a perpetual “hall pass” from his husband, is quick to introduce Dom to a more open, fetishistic gay scene than he’s previously experienced, and to seek out certain benefits from their increasing friendship. Consent is a major question hanging over the evening, with Dom eventually making a powerful statement – “I could have said no, he didn’t force me… but I couldn’t say no.” Coercion and grooming amongst two adults, powerful and prescient themes, lend the work a bitterness that nicely contrasts happy-go-lucky Dom’s endless capacity for sweetness.

While the small array of roles – affable Dom, sinister Peter, argumentative Alan, Aunty Mandy-loving mum Mel – being distinct and well-performed, perhaps my only issue with the cast of characters is how secondary some become at times. Dom still living with Mel and the implication that he himself hasn’t had any experience with drugs left me wondering what the relevance of this set-up was, and when a more traditional love interest is introduced, he seems to exist only to create drama between Dom and Peter. I couldn’t help but wonder, did we need to meet anyone other than protagonist Dom, and eventual antagonist Peter?

Likeable as he is as Dom, Ward also finds a real sinister quality to posh-presenting, sexually aggressive Peter Edwards. Guided by the character’s condescension and willingness to gaslight so-called friends to maintain his reputation and status, the posture Ward takes on for Peter becomes menacing and ominous. This is where the lighting design by Will Monks fits seamlessly with the performance – Monks’ work brings to mind the seedy clubs and intense, threatening eroticism of nights out with Peter, but these same red lights flash to coincide with Ward’s change in body language so that we can see, before we’ve been told, that Dom’s panic attacks are accompanied by a vision of his manipulative boss-cum-friend-cum-lover.

Likewise, sound design by Iain Armstrong uses low, ominous tones to place us firmly in Dom’s head where terror and anxiety threaten to overtake him. Armstrong also provides original compositions, comical in their vagueness and just how well they fit the moments where they’re employed – just for a moment, you think you recognise the song playing in the club or over the speakers at Peter’s lavish apartment before you realise it’s just a very clever soundalike. When Armstrong and Monks combine their work to present Dom’s panic attacks, the effect is so visceral and clear that Ward’s acting serves only to enhance, and the intended implication would be clear with an empty stage.

As with most good one-person theatre, Clive Judd's direction is so understated, so gentle in its guidance, that it's impact is deceptive. Keeping movement utilitarian and the angling of the monologues pointed and simple without stranding Ward in one spot for too long, and engaging the audience through quick glances and the odd phrase seemingly pointed into the crowd rather than to it en masse.

Endlessly endearing and often painful in its poignancy, a stumbling start to the story shouldn’t detract from The MP, Aunty Mandy & ME’s status as a must-see. Genuine heart, humour and compassion carry this play through the anguish of grooming, gaslighting and outright disbelief from people who Dom felt he could trust, and touch on ever-relevant themes from a place of real understanding and insight.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The MP, Aunt Mandy & Me plays at the King’s Head Theatre until June 4th.

For tickets and information visit https://kingsheadtheatre.com/whats-on/the-mp-aunty-mandy-me

Photos by Pamela Raith Photography