Plastic

Plastic is very much like the substance it takes its name from: modern, slick but transparent. The play is inspired by the story of a man who wants to become a woman, exploring the creation of gender identity in the Islamic Republic of Iran – the world capital of cosmetic surgery.

Set in the catacombs underneath the Pleasance Courtyard, the cast start by splitting up the audience – men on one side of a wall, women on the other. We are then taken on a tour around the caves by surgical technicians clad in white to witness a series of haunting vignettes. In one, a woman hurries to fit ladies shoes into jam jars; in another, a man helps a woman to bind her breasts, winding her torso in a seemingly endless bandage. These stories are interspersed with authoritarian voiceovers representing the state with phrases describing gender mutilation, pickled onions and botox ringing out across the darkened room.

This play feels more like a modern art exhibition than a theatre production. It throws together an assortment of gender and sex issues without arriving at any coherent conclusion. This isn’t a problem in itself; non-linear, disjointed plots can make for the most thought-provoking theatre. However, at times it seems as though Plastic is provocative for the sake of it and a little self-absorbed. Surely more than one video projection of the cast making sultry looks at the camera isn’t all that necessary to the core themes of the play?

Plastic attempts to make a political statement about notions of feminity and gender roles in Iran, but what we’re left with is a sterilised show which is more worried about being shocking than pertinent.