Rockbottom at The Place review – ‘a well-meaning yet misguided chemsex solo show’

★★☆☆☆ by Ifan Llewelyn

London gay theatre just can’t get enough of Chemsex. Ever since The Chemsex Monologues stook to the stage of The King’s Head Theatre in 2016, we have seen a slew of production tackling the issue head-on. Three years on, the chemsex theatre keeps coming with chemsex murder mystery Tumulus taking to the Soho Theatre, and the seraphic Among Angels enjoying a successful run at The Courtyard Theatre back in April. This is well-trodden territory. Though these productions felt well researched, their authenticity had to be called into question. Conceived, designed and performed by someone with first-hand experience of the practice and its effects, Stuart Water’s Rockbottom promised a fresh, genuine approach to its depiction.

The performance is initially very promising as a hospital gowned Waters lay on a bed of harsh, white light before writhing in one of the stage’s dark corners, a dim orange light cascading down his writhing back. There was something profoundly allusive in seeing the abstract and mutating pluses of his back muscles that spoke to a dismal desperation and his bodily endurance. Unfortunately, Rockbottom quickly departs from artistic ambiguity to campy and overwrought narrative detours. The most substantive of which, the trope of the mid-nineties television game show titled “I Need”, felt a little confused. Waters played the quintessential camp, energetic host welcoming his audience to a Stuart Waters at rock bottom, hurling himself between the two characters. Though bringing bucketfuls of dramatic irony to the piece, and illuminating the theatrical structures at play in having an audience witness him at rock bottom, it feels insincere. The camp TV host character allows him to detach from his story own story in order to tell it. Unfortunately, it also detaches you as his audience.

What proves to be rather frustrating about Rockbottom its unwillingness to recognise why chemsex is an alluring practice. Save one rather generic club scene, we don’t see any of the drugs’ euphoric effects, nor are privy to the carnal sexuality that these sessions indulge in. By only depicting the practice’s destructive effects and the horrors of life as an addict its narrative is stagnant in the “drugs are bad” messaging. It feels less like an honest exploration and more like a Public Safety Announcement on the dangers of chemsex.  He personifies Tina, a slang term for methamphetamine, as a pink-wigged drag queen, but not at any point is she an enjoyable presence nor is her presence fully established. When he ultimately comes to confront Tina and beat his addiction, it doesn’t feel like a substantive accomplishment.

Thursday 12^th September.  The Place, 17 Duke’s Rd, Kings Cross, London WC1H 9PY. theplace.org.uk

Advertisement