Review: F**KING MEN, Waterloo East

The best part of F**king Men at Waterloo East is a scene where a troubled artist declares that he doesn’t write “to comfort”—that he craves danger and transgression in art. It’s a striking moment, and one I wholeheartedly agree with. In today’s theatre landscape, work should challenge its audiences and speak urgently to the communities it represents. The irony is that F**king Men does very little of this. Despite that brief flash of insight, the play as a whole misses the mark—offering instead a reductive caricature of the queer experience.

Joe DiPietro’s show returns to Waterloo East for a third time, following two sell-out seasons in 2023 and 2024, so I was eager to finally catch it. But throughout the performance, I found myself wondering if I’d missed something. Surely there must be more to it—there has to be—it’s so popular. Yet, despite its efforts (it hurls every queer issue imaginable at you, along with some awkwardly staged nudity), it never won me over. Perhaps I’m the anomaly—it’s garnered its share of rave reviews. Or perhaps, as a younger gay man, I’m simply not the intended audience, which speaks to a broader issue within the production itself.

To begin with the positives: there are some sharper, more thoughtful moments—though none are ever fully developed. The show touches on the role of sex workers in the queer community, offering a genuine plea to acknowledge their humanity within the context of their work. There’s also a striking reflection on the state of America and the erosion of personal autonomy—remarkably resonant, despite having been written over a decade ago. And there’s no denying that DiPietro is a talented writer; I just don’t believe this piece showcases his abilities to their fullest. It feels more like a series of sketches, with little emotional depth or meaningful character development across the ten individuals it attempts to portray.

That said, the four actors do their best, and there are some genuinely sincere performances. Benedict Clarke is a standout as a sex worker longing for real connection—it’s an unexpected and engaging storyline that I wish had been given more time. Sven Ironside is also a magnetic performer and handles his multiple roles with confidence, as do Rob Alexander and Peter Caulfield. The problem is that each portrayal is so brief—and directed with a strange stiffness—that we’re never quite allowed to settle into any of their worlds.

But perhaps it’s just as well we don’t settle into these worlds—because they often fall victim to clichéd depictions of the queer experience. Older and younger gay men are pitted against each other, rather than exploring the meaningful lessons each generation might offer the other. Polyamory and monogamy are handled with reductive dialogue that flattens the queer community into tired stereotypes. HIV status is clumsily tossed into the mix, and themes like grief, shame, and stigma feel more like buzzwords to keep the scenes moving than genuine reflections on what it means to grow up queer in a world that doesn’t always love the way you love. Thankfully, Cara Evans’ set offers a bold and punchy playground for it all—simple, striking, and one of the production’s more cohesive elements.

It’s commendable that F**king Men attempts to take on so many themes at once—but it often feels like it’s bitten off more than it can chew. Buried within it are several stronger plays, each of which could thrive on London’s vibrant off-West End scene if given the space to breathe.

F**king Men runs at Waterloo East until 4 May 

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