Review: BACON, Finborough Theatre

"The memories are imprinted in my mind like ink that spreads". This is Mark's story. New at school, his Year-10 classmates ignore him and the highlight of his day is going back home to play with his dog Barney.

Then, he meets Darren. A lads' lad and part of the local group of bullies, he chooses Mark as his target-slash-best-buddy. Mark, starved of friendship and consistently seeking the approval of his peers, cautiously follows him through petty thievery and other malarkey until he realises he's developed certain feelings for the boy.

Darren, the product of a toxic upbringing, struggles to come to terms with his sexuality and ultimately destroys Mark's life. Four years of juvenile detention later, Darren shows up at Mark's job, asking for forgiveness. But Mark is not willing nor ready to give up ownership of his version of the facts and disowns those old emotions that try to creep back in. Sophie Swithinbank builds a tempestuous analysis of teenage masculinity.

Director Matthew Iliffe sets the scene on a large seesaw designed by Natalie Johnson. It takes up the length of the traverse stage, becoming a symbol of the precarious balance between childhood and adulthood. Corey Montague-Sholay and William Robinson weigh each other and their baggage as they step on and off it, seemingly floating in darkness as lit by Ryan Joseph Stafford.

The lighting design and a drastic change of demeanour from the actors transport the two actors between timelines in the blink of an eye. The foundation of Swithinbank's piece is this constant duality between the boys. We meet Mark as he is preparing to colour-code his homework and Darren is on a misbehaving mission. Suddenly, naivety and intimidation enter a power struggle that will eventually drag both of them away from their presumed path.

Where Darren is exercising all the control he can get outside of his violent home, Mark's loneliness thrusts him into foreign positions. Robinson is striking as the rough and secretly insecure bully. His overworked jaw and swaggering steps clash with Montague-Sholay's bonhomie. Both exuberant - albeit in different ways - in their youth, they seem to calm down to a fizzing resignation after their manipulative and opportunistic friendship is over.

Darren's jarring actions cut a gaping hole in Mark's life. While they were united in their adolescent isolation where Mark's pining for his new friend was somewhat justified, four years of PTSD and depression have left him devoid of hope.

Swithinbank's writing is excellent. She blurs the lines to the extent of gaslighting the audience themselves, muddying the dynamic between the pair and swinging the allegiances she creates. Bacon joins the discussion on male aggression and sexual violence, focusing the spotlight on toxic relationships between young men. All the while, she reiterates the class discourse and divide.

Darren is alert to any shift in his unemployed dad's behaviour and suspicious of his unusual kindness. On the other end, Mark's mum is perceptive and perhaps overly affectionate. Darren is shocked by how lovely Mark's home is, how his meals aren't sporadic and his uniform is always clean. His manipulation is ouvert, but Mark doesn't mind and enjoys finally having a friend. It's a tragically eye-opening play on teenage trauma. We hear it's soon to be developed for television, which is fantastic news.

Bacon runs at Finborough Theatre until 26 March.

Photo credit: Ali Wright

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