Lucy Moss and Toby Marlow have done the unimaginable: in giving big, musical pathos to the small digital actions that leave people heartbroken, confused, deflated and disproportionately hopeful in our hybrid world of on- / offline dating, Hinge, Grindr and that green monster: WhatsApp.
As the characters representing Marlow and Moss step into view in childlike masks, as supported by a chorus of inanimate objects brought to life in ‘budget’ costumes, it is clear that the writers are embracing not only metatheatre but the personal obsessions, likes and 'icks' of millennial graduates who spent more time at theatre club than studying in the library.
Moss and Marlow wrote their first hit, Six, in their last year at Cambridge University and dived straight into the professional London industry, having mounted a formative version of the show at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. So, this story of two Oliver!-obsessed writers, Oli and Nancy, is also the story of what happens after you make a hit…the self-reflection, the panic to match its success, the reconnection with identity and loved ones.
It works. Experience of jogging through a never-ending casting call of dates fixed on apps is relatable to Gen Zs, Ys and almost all Millennials at this point, as well as Boomers daring enough to challenge the mores they grew up with—like, you know, integrity and monogamy. Despite bylines announcing the great rejection of these monetized AI matchmakers, most singles simply don’t know where else to look in the UK, a country where we don’t talk to attractive strangers unless trashed.
If you’re like me, 99% of the pixelated ‘options’ proffered in the ‘likes you’ section are swiped left before any meeting could even be tabled. But for many, Oli and Nancy’s experiences of being repeatedly stood-up, ‘ghosted’ and left on ‘unread’ by potential suitors will be part of the texture of a week on Hinge / Bumble / Tinder etc etc etc.
Oli’s emotional numbers give operatic proportion to this experience of digital rejection, not only as a queer person navigating sex and gender preconceptions, but as a person built with more sensitivity than digital platforms or the impulse to screen messages, voice-note. Nancy’s number "Just In Case" really zeros the audience in on the universal experience of wanting someone so badly that the feeling eclipses all other relationships.
Throughout, the ensemble showstoppers are fluidly and humorously choreographed by Ellen Kane—the moment when Oli rises above the fray as a glitterball is particularly memorable. Jo Foster and Leesa Tulley play their roles expertly, with surprising osmosis between the characters and themselves, a bi-product of the show being made by theatre-makers about theatre-makers. This earnest directness jostles with layers of meta-irony to produce some beautifully comic moments—such as when Nancy flies through the door of Oli’s living room to announce, "I got off the plane," with reference to their childhoods spent looking to TV show Friends as a blueprint for life.
As the heroes trip through the bittersweet ups and downs of on- / offline love, the audience is left waiting for an emotional punch. This does arrive, and leaves Oli bereft in his flat as Nancy abandons him to see ‘The Ex’. The odd tear is also squeezed when Nancy opens up in a touching solo, unravelling how grief has left her susceptible to keeping love at arms-length... like a lost jumper. While I was left a tiny bit unconvinced about what was really at stake with Nancy’s leaving Oli’s flat to reunite with The Ex, the emotional wasteland described in Nancy subsequent solo got me.
The message of how committed and complex friendships trump the fickleness of romantic love is masterfully brought to life in this show, that also serves as a comic warning about the callousness of digital culture. Whether Moss and Marlow’s take on this culture will enthral as many global audiences as the wives of Henry the Eighth will be another story…