We had reservations about some of the casting when we saw James MacDonald's production of Mike Bartlett's witty, minimalist play, COCK, at the Royal Court Theater Upstairs a while back (review somewhere below), and were curious to see what New York actors would do with this blueprint of a script. The New York cast was better, the play both funnier and more impassioned.
Barlett has said that he got the idea for the style of this play when he witnessed a cockfight in Mexico (the New York Times, unable to print the title of the play, calls it "The Cockfight Play"). The audience is seated on benches in a plywood ampitheater looking down on a small, circular playing area. The only lighting is fluorescent and the audience is as lit as the actors. There are no sets, furniture or props, nor is there any specific miming of actions like eating or copulating. Everything is in the words. Bartlett's script, obviously influenced by Pinter, is filled with pauses. Exposition is sketchy and only delivered when necessary. Scene breaks are indicated by the sounding of a tone. All this creates great challenges for the actors.
Bartlett's story is a simple one. John (the only character with a name), is in a contentious seven-year relationship with a somewhat older and more successful man who is a bit of a psychological bully. Shortly after John tries to break off his relationship with M, he meets W, a young female divorcee who does not like being single. John, both attracted to W and frightened of his first heterosexual relationship, runs back to M. Both M, W and, at the dinner from hell, M's father, push John to make a choice. Is it M or W? Is he straight or gay? COCK would be a simple minded play if it were just an argument against rigid categories like gay, straight or bisexual. John's real problem is that he doesn't know who he is. He has no fixed identity of any kind. Oddly, it is his blankness that seems to attract needy people like M and W. They can project their needs and fantasies onto him. The question that frustrates one watching this play -- one of the key questions Bartlett is asking -- is why people are drawn to this amiable cipher who is doubly crippled by the fact that he knows he has no identity. COCK is a rich play about loneliness, neediness and contemporary anomie. It's funny, smart and a bit disturbing.
There were some problems with the London cast. Ben Whishaw seemed good casting for John -- homely, scrawny and an expert at playing angst. However, Andrew Scott, the same size and looking the same age as Whishaw (though he's half a dozen years older), was a bit small-scaled as M and Katherine Parkinson, a one note actress if ever there was one, did nothing with W. The New York cast was infinitely superior. The opening battles between Cory Michael Smith's John and Jason Butler Harner's M were much more passionate. Harner is taller and obviously older than Smith, a necessary set of contrasts. One felt both their sexual attraction and the frustrations that were killing their relationship. I never felt any passion between Ben Whishaw and Andrew Scott, but here saw that, whatever was driving them apart, John and M were physically attracted to each other. Amanda Quaid made W an interesting character; attractive, smart and tough. She really stands her ground when forced to fight for her dignity and for John. Smith made you realize why people were attracted to John even though they should run for the hills. Harner is magnetic as M, registering every aspect of his bafflement, hurt and need for John. Cotter Smith made his brief appearance as the father subtler and more complex than his London counterpart. This was a more physical, more intense performance than the London one without losing any of the wit and humor. It was thrilling to watch these actors at work in this small space. And it was a joy to see this fine play again.
COCK. The Duke on 42nd Street. June 23, 2012.
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