4 hours ago
4
I’m watching Miriam Battye’s The Virgins, which was nominated for the Women’s prize for playwriting in 2020, but it feels as if I’ve been thrown headfirst back into my teenage years. Centred on a group of teens who have decided that tonight is the night their sex lives finally get moving, it’s a tornado of growing pains and pretence at pleasure.
It’s a Friday night, and best friends – and virgins – Chloe (Anushka Chakravarti) and Jess (Ella Bruccoleri) are getting ready to go “out out” for the first time. Joined by their gossip-hoarding friend Phoebe (played by a hysterical Molly Hewitt-Richards), who panics at even the mention of physical contact, they brush their teeth and straighten their hair in anticipation of Anya (Zoë Armer) from the year above arriving to teach them all they need to know. Even better, Chloe’s brother Joel (Ragevan Vasan), who practically shrinks when a girl enters, and his “really, really fit” friend Mel (Alec Boaden) are next door playing video games. With no parents at home and vodka mixers at the ready, the night is a recipe for success.
Battye’s script has each room discussing the other as if it contains strange wild animals. The girls gather in the doorway, gawping and gasping at the boys staring at the TV screen, while Anya hands out advice in an effort to assert her power. Sexual experience is currency here, and Chakravarti’s perfectly judged Chloe works hard to impress Anya with fabricated stories and artificial confidence, shunning her true friends in the process. Elsewhere, Joel follows Mel’s advice as if it were drawn from a golden rulebook.
The threat of men is never far from view: Phoebe can barely summon words when a boy enters the room, and the girls plan signals to alert one another if they find themselves in uncomfortable situations. Still, desire bubbles beneath their half-open conversations. Watching them perform at adulthood is a queasy, stomach-churning experience.
Directed by Jaz Woodcock-Stewart, the play unfolds like a horror film in short, sharp bursts. Between scenes, the stage drops into darkness as dramatic orchestral music blares. When the lights return, each moment feels poised on a cliff-edge, even if some key elements – the rumours surrounding Anya, or the roots of Mel’s speech about feeling let down by women – are left unexplained.
Still, Battye’s strength lies in writing scenes that feel utterly authentic. If you’ve lived through the awkward choreography of nights like these, The Virgins lands uncomfortably close to home.
