My Zinc Bed

27 October 2015 | 5:04 pm | Sean Maroney

"My Zinc Bed is suitably light entertainment."

David Hare's script is singular in its pursuit of addiction. It simultaneously sets foundations to explore it and delves into the realm itself. Hare's wit is addictive, as are the characters Victor and his wife Elsa. Victor (Sean Taylor) is magnanimous and magnetising. He is the unapologetic success story. He sweeps up the stage under his suited arms and invigorates it with a lust for pride. He is addicted to himself and his image. Elsa (Danielle Carter) is sensuous. She is Mrs Robinson and Sharon Stone, crossing and uncrossing her legs, addicting us to the imagined sound of her stockings making infinitesimal crushing noises, one against the other. She is lascivious but never lewd. The audience is addicted to her sex appeal. She is addicted to it as well. Paul Peplow (Sam O'Sullivan), the pronounced addict, an ex-alcoholic, is the narrator. His function is to give grounds to a coming-of-age story that in turn functions to question addiction. Is addiction incurable? Must it necessarily follow such strict polarities of abstinence or hellish dependency? Are addictions abnormal or are we creatures of addiction, simply replacing one for another more or less healthy?

Suitably furtive and blunt when needed, My Zinc Bed is a sound production. The script is entertaining, the investigation apt, and the acting decent. However, it didn't strike a chord. It was too easy and without that dark energy that addiction engenders. The love triangle didn't simmer with lust but danced around superficial kisses. The show has potential but found a quagmire in its wit that prohibited genuine emotional engagement. My Zinc Bed is suitably light entertainment.