Some monologues are so personal you can’t imagine another actor doing them. Right? Wrong! I’ve always thought that Michaela Coel’s performance of her 2012 debut, Chewing Gum Dreams, was so precise that it couldn’t be matched. I was wrong. Now another team, actor Lauryn Ajufo and Theatre 503 director Anthony Simpson-Pike, are staging a revival that triumphantly demonstrates the comic power and emotional energy of the playwright’s text, as well as the one-woman show’s continued relevance as a snapshot of teen life in the UK. Adapted into a 2015 television series, Chewing Gum, the play is a contemporary classic — as proved by this exciting revival.
The semi-autobiographical monologue gives voice to Tracey Gordon, a 14-year-old Hackney-based Londoner who’s growing up in the context of home, school and early sentimental, or rather sexual, education. The main characters in Tracey’s world are her bestie Candice, “the buffest girl I ever seen”, and other school friends such as Fat Lesha, who is so flexible she “can lick her own vagina”, the religious Seraphina, Connor Jones with the blue eyes and the older Aaron, who turns out to be a violent brute. The adults include their teacher Miss Ross, whose scorn for her pupils is hilariously cartoonish, Connor’s class-conscious mother and “an Asian guy in a three-piece suit” at the local pharmacy.
The 50-minute play’s themes circle around Tracey’s anxieties about her body, her developing sexuality and her desire to experience love. As the play’s title suggests, she’s struggling to realise her dreams. Her sex education comes from her mates, and graphic moments include the use of a tampon to tear her hymen, as well as some realistically awkward encounters with boys. One other recognisable emotion is her fear of getting pregnant, which — like much of the material — is written in a vividly comic way which includes an excruciating scene in the pharmacy. Apart from emergency contraception, and a lot of humorous writing about penises, there is of course a darker side to teen sexuality: the play emphasizes toxic masculinity and the devastating effects of sexual violence.
Coel’s writing is an excellent mix of lurid comedy, heightened and exaggerated with a breathless teenage sensibility, and much more serious moments. One highpoint is the classroom rebellion against the maths teacher Miss Ross, with the audience encouraged to join in the pupils’ chant of “Tra—cey, Tra—cey, Tra—cey” as she battles the authoritarian putdowns. Yet, at the same time, Coel stresses the depressing aspect of the failings of the education system. Tracey realizes, glumly, that “I ain’t smart enough to be someone I’m just smart enough to know I’m no one.” Her understandably limited aspirations and cynicism are heartbreaking. At one point, a door is literally closed in her face — and this metaphor describes her life chances. Only a sense of female friendship, and the occasional horizon-expanding outing to the seaside, offer a more optimistic vision of the future.
While there’s a lot of comic fun in this exuberant and mouthy character, who times a kiss by counting off the minutes of a pop song, Chewing Gum Dreams doesn’t ignore a much darker side of teen life — sexual harassment and violence against girls — which is also horribly present. If Tracey’s affection for Candice is very moving, and the play’s final scene a terrible picture of the results of male aggression, the play is too slender to thoroughly explore the complexities of its subject matter. Instead, we get snapshots, sharply outlined and unforgettable, as the scenes jump from bus to school to street to home to bus again.
Another, not unexpected, theme is race: even though her husband is black, Tracey thinks Miss Ross is “a bit racist coz she blatantly colour codes the class: Asian kids at the front; Whit kids next, Black ones, obviously at the back.” The teen is also frank about her opinions of mixed-race kids: Candice is beautiful, but Aaron is “mix race too, but not the good mix race” because his “his mum’s a ginger”. She describes her growing erotic awareness with equal directness: “I always thought white people were bad kissers”, and Connor’s penis reminds her “of one of those pink balloons — and raw chicken skin”.
In the programme, Simpson-Pike argues that Theatre 503, whose mission is to stage new plays, should also revive outstanding debuts from the past, and this is surely right. His production, with partner company Tiata Fahodzi, is a really invigorating experience. Ajufo convincingly captures the teen’s mannerisms, body language and facial grimaces, as well as her dance moves and comically accurate attempts to attract the attention of boys. She’s sharp at showing the teen’s body anxieties, and the moments of vulnerability and upset are perfectly acted. Likewise, she has great comic timing and super vivacity. She just smashes it!
Simpson-Pike’s directing is surefooted and makes good use of the venue’s stage, which designer Yimei Zhao has turned into an abstract grey world of shapes and shadows which allow for quick transitions between the short episodes of the play. Atmospheric help comes from Xana’s soundscape and Christopher Nairne’s lighting, creating a short but superb theatrical experience. However troubling some of the material is, the play remains poignant and this terrific production really does it proud. Great energy from all involved. Yes, it’s a cracker.
- Chewing Gum Dreams is at Theatre 503 until 17 October.
This post was written by the author in their personal capacity.The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not reflect the view of The Theatre Times, their staff or collaborators.
This post was written by Aleks Sierz.
The views expressed here belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect our views and opinions.