Julian Moore-Cook impresses as the many faces of post-coital vulnerability
Conversations After Sex opens with full-frontal nudity: a man searching for his pants while the other half of his one-night stand reclines in bed. This in-your-face opening sets the scene well for a show exploring perhaps the most intimate time you can spend with a stranger: those lingering moments of connectedness after sex. The unnamed protagonist, ‘her’ (played by Olivia Lindsay) experiences this intimacy often and on her own terms, hopping between dating apps and in-person hook-ups to get her fix. The secrets shared in these moments of vulnerability take in themes of loneliness, inner turmoil, and the nature of relationships, in an emotionally intense exploration of human connectedness.
Julian Moore-Cook’s acting chops are given a real work out, taking on every male partner throughout the play, including a few returning ‘friends with benefits’. Some are nice – like the Brazilian immigrant whose father died shortly after he left his home country (“my English was so bad, I couldn’t tell anyone what was wrong”) – and others not so much, like the xenophobic Irishman recently returned from England. But all have an intimate truth waiting to escape their soul.
Moore-Cook pivots effortlessly between poignant revelations, lighthearted fun, and explosive emotion with practised ease, and this dexterity is a joy to watch. The chemistry he has with Lindsay, both physical and emotional, adds weight to every encounter.
Lindsay’s female constant across these interactions, by contrast, is comparatively formless. Particularly towards the start of the show, she serves more as a foil for each male lover, rather than building her own relationship with the audience. This eases as the play progresses, particularly with the introduction of a sister who suspects her own husband of cheating, but it is always her regular bedfellows who evoke the strongest response. As they spill their secrets – about sex and relationships, yes, but also family, ill-health, and addiction – it is these characters the audience cares about and roots for. As a result, whilst the play’s conclusion ties up Lindsay’s story nicely, it loses some of its impact for being focused on a character the audience are less invested in.
The staging is simple, but effective: a lightbox, a disheveled bed, and some clothes strewn about the floor. Between scenes, the lightbox flares with vivid colour, casting Lindsay and Moore-Cook as stark silhouettes. It’s incredible how they capture the essence of each new relationship in these moments: a particularly spiky coupling’s menace seeps in before the scene even begins, thanks to subtle shifts in posture. Within conversations, minimal distractions from sound or lighting amplify the emotional intensity of each unfolding interaction.
In a world where nearly every piece of art claims to explore the power of human connection, there is something novel in the snatched moments of intimacy captured by Conversations After Sex. If there’s a message here, it’s perhaps one of reassurance: both that everyone has some aspect of them that is broken, and that these things can always be fixed.
Conversations After Sex plays at the Park Theatre until 17th May, with Thursday and Saturday matinees. Tickets can be purchased here.