An extraordinarily original and authentic examination of power dynamics in a toxic relationship.
Told through a combination of linear vignettes and non linear flashbacks leading towards the joining of the tense finale, this is a piece that forces its audience to reflect on their own gender biases. Director Helen Cunningham’s production is as slick as it is confronting. Not only is Spent a very tight script, but its two leads weave a well-crafted tale through naturalistic and intimate performance.
We follow A (played by Nikoletta Soumelidis), a woman who at first appears incredibly confident, self assured and fun to be around, as she meets B (played by Charlie Collinson), a man who is a bit lost in life, naïve but ultimately willing to try new things. As the play progresses we see the cracks begin to form as trust and betrayal go hand in hand with gaslighting and guilt. The unique concept here is that the actors switch roles for each performance, meaning the power play of gender dynamic within a relationship forces the audience to confront their own biases.
The set is simple, with a wooden block placed diagonally, used as a sofa, a bed, or a storage place for realistic props I’m pretty sure I’ve seen around my own flat. Perhaps they could add some more clutter to the stage- I was really invested in how they lived in their shared space and how control plays a part in overpowering a domestic setting. Lighting also was simple but effective- two Fresnel lights: one red/pink and one blue/white at either side used to demonstrate duplicity and duality during scene transitions with choreographed movement.
I was utterly absorbed in the highly convincing characters; the acting is exceptional. I felt uncomfortable as I watched them explore intimacy and cross fetishistic boundaries; I felt happy for them when they declared love for one another in their cute domestic bliss; I felt awkward when deceit and lies were exposed, like I shouldn’t be watching. There is something so powerful about watching two people act so realistic in front of you that it doesn’t feel like acting. It was like something played in court during divorce settlements.
Soumelidis’ impressively written script portrays abuse in a way that makes you recognise it in someone you know. This could even be your own relationship. At first the female character of A comes across as very reasonable and exciting, until you slowly realise you too have mistaken her confidence for arrogance, and her own past trauma is used to gaslight and make B feel desperate to explain himself and apologise. Ultimately, in this version, the female character is presented as more toxic than the male, but I thought it telling that at times I was distracted by the physicality and athleticism of A. She wore a crop top and skinny jeans and I realized I was objectifying her. It made me wonder if the objectification of women allowed them to get away with abuse. Our brains can’t comprehend that someone we find attractive could hurt us so much. The idea is that monstrous people should only look like, well, monsters.
The action takes place solely in the domestic setting of the lovers’ flat, but it would be fascinating to see how they examine toxic traits in a other setting, as the dynamic again will shift depending on the event or people involved. The way the façade is presented publicly would be interesting to develop.
Ultimately this is an incredibly well-constructed production utilising the skills of its small team to great effect. It forces audiences to confront and question, and it does so in an original and captivating concept.