Pornography

The dismal tangle of red wires, electric cables and wooden platforms that adorn the stage of Pornography, extending out above the audience, could represent many things. It’s the sordid depths of a disused London Underground station; it’s the sad wreckage of one of the tube trains hit by a 7/7 bomber; it could even be someone’s home, dank, dirty and in desperate need of a clean. It’s this constant refusal to be defined, this ongoing evasion of resolution, that is at the heart of award-winning playwright Simon Stephens’ engaging work.

The action pivots around 2005’s three most important events: Live8, London’s Olympic bid win and the fatal bombs of July 7. First performed in Germany over a year ago, it’s easier to see now why it took so long for Pornography to reach the shores of Britain: one of its characters is an unnamed 7/7 bomber, portrayed with a degree of humanity and vulnerability that’s sure to have Daily Mail journalists accusing Stephens of high treason before long. But it’s a successful portrait because it never lapses into compassion – merely frightening objectivity. This non-judgemental, almost egalitarian attitude is extended to all of the play’s eight characters, from a corporate executive struggling to deal with motherhood to a working-class schoolboy infatuated with his teacher, and is what makes this such an instant classic.

Pornography is a devastating portrait of a London that needs protection, but this centricity to the capital ultimately lets the play down. Every other line conjures up a visual map of London – a map that might be impossible to understand for people unfamiliar with the sprawling city. But, despite this weakness, it’s exquisitely written and brilliantly executed, building to a crescendo that leaves the audience frozen in anticipation – even though everyone already knows the ending.