West End Review

‘The End of Longing’

Directed by Lindsay Posner

Playhouse Theatre, London

A Review and Essay

Matthew Perry hit the metaphorical nail on the head with his play ‘The End of Longing’, now playing at the Playhouse Theatre in London’s West End.

‘The End of Longing’ is one of the more relevant plays to be performed in modern times, successfully capturing the destructive nature of loneliness in a busy and morally hypocritical world. While overt themes of immorality such as alcoholism and prostitution act to drive the plot, the social observation runs so much deeper. It is a script that delves deeply into the complexities of life, love, self-awareness and personal transformation in a non-judgmental way.

The story intertwines the lives of four Americans in their late thirties/early forties who face individual challenges of a social and psychological nature. Jack (Matthew Perry), Stephanie (Jennifer Mudge), Stevie (Christina Cole) and Joseph (Lloyd Owen) hide behind frivolous and often insincere façades in an attempt to avoid or suppress their anxiety and self-disdain. Each character’s personal vice – whether alcohol, prostitution or pharmaceuticals – acts only to mask their deep-set loneliness and shield them from the confronting truth. These characters long to be happy; they long for acceptance, to be loved, to find peace within. Cue back to the play’s title, and you have your synopsis.

It is not the characters’ conclusive end of longing however that leaves the audience contemplating the play for weeks to come. Self-awareness is a key theme, often hindering personal progress and diminishing each character’s confidence to the extreme. The theme shines a spotlight onto Jack, Joseph, Stephanie and Stevie’s perception of self, and evokes a similar response from the audience. It is the realistic complications faced by these characters and their enduring determination to attain self-satisfaction that promotes introspection beyond the boundaries of stage.

Playwright and lead performer Matthew Perry leaves his ‘Friends’ persona Chandler Bing at the door, instead introducing himself as a loud, uncouth forty-something lacking repose. The cold open and uncomfortably bright spotlight presents Perry’s Jack as an undignified ‘brute in a suit’ with arrogance reminiscent of an entitled child from privileged upbringing. In reality, Jack is the complete opposite.

Perry’s comic timing is distinct in ‘The End of Longing’, though it is important to note that the performance is not dependent upon it. Perry’s ability to actively evoke sympathy, pity and empathy from the audience during Jack’s most selfish moments is worthy of a standing ovation - and that he and the cast did receive during the matinee performance on March 31^st.

The supporting actors are outstanding in their own right, embodying their characters so completely that it is impossible to argue that Perry is the play’s sole lead. The audience empathises with these characters because they are relatable: a Stephanie or a Jack on the surface, a Joseph or a Stevie at the core.

Stevie’s neurotic, anxious ways may resonate with one’s own exhausting pursuit for perfection, while Stephanie’s secreted unhappiness and self-proclaimed ‘daddy issues’ concealed by an air of false confidence reflects a common denominator. No doubt then that Joseph’s adorable lack of awareness evokes nostalgia of simple friendships passed, while Jack’s nihilistic persona actively draws attention to our own capacity as human beings to be destructively selfish.

‘It’s the story of four broken people trying to find love, and the fact that it’s possible for people to change.’ – Matthew Perry on creating ‘The End of Longing’.

Transformation is a salient theme, presenting itself in each character in a number of ways. Jack’s transformation is most noticeable through volume and dialogue - the subtle transition between irrepressible shouting and controlled voice projection is most notable by the play’s end. Regarding dialogue, Jack’s incumbent penchant for curse words turns self-regulated following a series of adverse situations and personal challenges. It is however Jack’s enduring monologue towards the play’s end, his admission to giving in to the demon that is alcoholism that refines and defines his character. Jack no longer displays anger or rage; he no longer masks his broken identity with a verbally vicious persona. Instead, his declaration evokes a positive, heart-warming and accepting response from the audience as they are reintroduced to the man rather than the liquor-driven monster.

Stephanie’s transformation occurs through dialogue and direction, but is most notable in the use of costume and props. Upon first sight, Stephanie vivaciously introduces herself as “a whore”. Throughout the play, Stephanie speaks loudly and proudly of her profession, bragging of her sexual prowess and skills in the bedroom. Stephanie is often seen with a cell phone, haughtily scheduling clients between arguments with Jack - her cell phone acting as a symbol for her ‘call girl’ status and thus a lack of professional (and personal) stability. By the play’s end, Stephanie says sayonara to her colourful, on-trend outfits and hello to the sleek, muted shades of the corporate world. Her cell phone, no longer in sight, makes way for the accessible and reliable Apple Macbook, signifying a respectable career path, grounded lifestyle and newfound reliability. Her gaze no longer drifts solemnly to the back of the theatre, but focusses on her Macbook screen: she now lives in the present, prepared for the exciting challenges yet to come.

As a symbol of her powerlessness, Stevie’s name alone acts to portray her fragile state of mind. Without consideration, when the two women first meet, Stephanie renames her new friend ‘Stevie’ upon learning of their shared name. Stevie (meaning ‘crown’ in Greek) may possess an air of self-importance (particularly in Joseph’s presence), but her façade quickly fades when confronted with a life-changing (and life threatening) situation. Ironic as it may be, Stevie - a pharmaceuticals rep (or legalised “pill pusher”) often relies upon the products she sells to suppress her paranoia, anxiety and frustrating inability to find happiness within.

Similar to Jack, Stevie’s transformation is made noticeable in her frantic dialogue. Once seen conversing to a pharmacist erratically in the wee hours of the morning and divulging personal information in excess, Stevie later breathes a sigh of relief - one of inner-contentment – and is able to whisper “I love you” to her beau. She knows she is ‘fucked up’ and introspectively acknowledges that ‘stupid Joseph’ may not be a perfect man, but he is perfect for her. He balances her neurotic personality with his seemingly rosy approach to life, forcing her to slow down and eradicate the need for prescription pills. Through a series of adverse situations designed to challenge her mortality and emotional intelligence, Stevie changes from a hyperactive and ironic ‘realist’ to an emotionally sensible woman no longer reliant upon on the false and short-lived happiness her drugs (or therapy) provide.

In contrast, Joseph admits that he is perceivably stupid. It is his honesty and unwavering values that make Joseph the play’s most lovable and vital character, and is further ironic that he offers the most logic and sensibility throughout the play. “Life isn’t as hard as you make it out to be!” he cries in frustration at the bickering Jack and Stephanie during his time of need. Joseph might struggle to offer more than a minute’s worth of ‘material’ when emotionally interrogated by his lover’s best friend, but what the audience learns is that often in life, less is more: less self-awareness, less self-doubt, more ‘showing’ and less talking. His academic intelligence may be limited but his ability and desire to stabilise those around him is unrestricted. “He is lacking in self-awareness… It’s fantastic!” Jack says mockingly, though it is this precise quality that allows Joseph to persevere through hardship and avoid the same fate as his unfulfilled acquaintances. Joseph is the pillar of strength for Stevie, and the voice of reason to diminish ongoing volatility between Jack and Stephanie. He is their ‘emotional rock’ – despite his limited vocabulary.

“Some say that people can’t change. That’s not right. I see people change every day.” – Matthew Perry on creating ‘The End of Longing’.

Perry should be acknowledged as an accomplished playwright following his string of West End shows. His ability to create relatable characters that audiences willingly invest in is exceptional. Jack, Joseph, Stephanie and Stevie each exhibit qualities we all possess. The problems the characters face are real, and while the methods they instinctively use to resolve them are not always favourable, the journey and outcome is certainly familiar.

People are not perfect; in fact, they are incredibly flawed. Matthew Perry shines a light on our flaws as unfulfilled individuals and proves that happiness is attainable, despite the gritty path one must take to find it. ‘The End of Longing’ teaches us that, given the correct motivators, people can change.

Symbolically closing with a soft-spoken “hi”, the play’s overt message is clear: happy endings and new beginnings are possible, even in the most unlikely of circumstances. Mr. Perry captures this exquisitely, and with charming honesty in his West End play.

‘The End of Longing’ is playing at London’s Playhouse Theatre until 14^th May 2016. Book your tickets now through Official London Theatre.

Written by Belinda Pearce.

Matinee 2:30pm, Thursday 31^st March 2016.

What If?

An insight into the mind of a first-time migrant

There I sat, in a buzzing hairdressing salon one week before Christmas, staring silently at my own reflection. I was privy to the erratic movement and chatter of the clients and staff around me, but all were blurred in slow motion as I contemplated my immediate future.

A wonderfully appropriate nineties playlist echoed through the speakers in the ceiling above. I ebbed in and out of consciousness, my reflection intermittently appearing as if I were looking through the lens of a camera drifting in and out of focus. When I wasn’t lost in the evocative lyrics of songs like 4 Non Blondes’ ‘What’s Up?’ and Eagle Eye Cherry’s ‘Save Tonight’, I found myself mulling over feelings of frustration and situational isolation.

“Migration is exciting, exciting, exciting!” so anyone who has never migrated internationally will tell you. Migration, particularly for the first time, is scary as all hell. Yes, there are many attractive elements - the promise of adventure, opportunities, and immersion into a culture other than your own which brings with it an abundance of exciting experiences. Inevitable though are the insecurities and uncertainties that are all encompassing in that final month before departure.

While the psychological adjustment is a major part of migration, so too is the time consuming process of ensuring all paperwork and legalities are checked off before leaving the homeland. Unfortunately, this list is continuous and will not see completion until the day of departure (if you’re lucky).

As I mentally checked off my own ‘to do’ list, the nineties music persisted as a suitable soundtrack to my current mindset. While Deep Blue Something's 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' left me lamenting lost time with someone special, the uplifting lyrics of New Radicals' 'You Get What You Give' reminded me of my own willingness and tenacity to succeed in a foreign country; this song, in that very moment, was the life jacket to provide buoyancy while preventing me from drowning in the sea of stress I’d ultimately succumb to.

A hairdresser pulled at my strands as I sat in the obnoxiously large black chair, the intense heat of the hairdryer blowing heavily upon my face as she frantically brushed at my scalp. I used this ironic moment of solitude to introspect upon the multitude of uncertainties clouding the forefront of my mind. They ranged from the deeply personal to the highly trivial – there seemed to be no in-between. I mulled over my growing list of ‘what ifs’ until my frenetic mind had reached an unexpected level of clarity…

• What if my money isn't accessible in the UK upon arrival?
• What if I accidentally leave essential paperwork in Australia?
• What if I’m not paid on time?
• What if I can't work out the bus schedules to and from school? What if I’m late on my first day?
• What if I can't handle the cold, English winter?
• What if I can't find an affordable gym close to home and the lack of exercise drives me mad?
• What if I can't find my favourite vegetables in abundance? Will my healthy diet suffer?
• What if I can’t afford wifi?
• What if I don't like my apartment, or I have bad neighbours?
  
• What if he’s ‘the one that got away’?
• What if I’d never misunderstood the sudden distance? Will I always wonder what could have been?
• What if he never really cared in the first place?

• What if my mum cries at the airport? What if I do too?
• What if someone in my family gets sick? How will I possibly take care of them from the other side of the world?
• What if my siblings forget about me? Will they become accustomed to life without a (present) big sister? What if they’re ok with that?
• What if my beloved dog passes away while I'm overseas? How will he know that I never, ever stopped loving him? Will he know that I miss kissing him above the eyes and tickling his chin?
• What if my Nan thinks I've forgotten about her because I can't afford to call? Why won't she get the Internet already?
  
• What if I go weeks or months without so much as a hug?
• What if I can't stand my new school?
• What if my students can't stand me?
• What if I feel incompetent, and the U.K. curriculum reads like jibberish?
• What if I like him more than he likes me?
• What if New Year’s Eve doesn’t go as planned, or it is cancelled altogether?

• What if his opinion of me changes? 

• What if my friends and I miss each other terribly? 
• What if we don’t? Will I make new friends?

• What if I'm unable to save money because the cost of living is too high?
• What if my worry is in vain and I love the U.K., never wishing to return to Australia?
• What if I forget all about New York City, and end up regretting it later in life?
• What if leaving for London was the best decision I ever made?

Despite the ‘what ifs’, my conscience is resolute in deciding to leave Australia for the United Kingdom; this is the right move for right now.

While the underlying anxiety that comes with first-time migration cannot be avoided, the element of excitement deep within will certainly allow it to gradually subside. Wembley Stadium rock concerts await my arrival, as does Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre (and the 400^th Anniversary celebration). The pop culture convention I’ll be working in February will undoubtedly provide me with stories for my friends back home, whereas the cobblestone streets I'll photograph and the castles I'll explore will feed my sense of wanderlust tenfold.

The bold decision to migrate may have started as a flight response to a frustrating breakup, and the journey has indeed been time consuming and emotionally trying, but the rewards I am yet to reap are lifelong and highly complemented by my determination to make the most of what’s yet to come.

By Belinda Pearce

17/12/15

Life Is A Labyrinth

The Abolition of Apprehension

Sunday November 29^th. The train was pulling in to Sydney’s International Terminal as the ethereal electric guitar of Angus and Julia Stone's 'Big Jet Plane' began playing through my headphones. The air-conditioning in the carriage was unrelenting and seemingly set to ‘icy’, with only intermittent breaths of warmth seeping through the top level of the carriage at each stop.

England is cold at Christmas. It’s time I got used to this. With twenty-seven days to go until I was set to migrate to a country I knew very little about, the anxiety was fast setting in.

My chest tightened, a wave of sadness overcame my very being and a shortness of breath ensued. My eyes became unfocused; all that was tangibly ahead appeared to be a blur, my vision only welcoming the uncertain depths of what my mind chose to project: a vignette perspective of my immediate future - the possibilities of ‘what could be’ in the UK in the coming months.

I thought of all I was leaving behind: my beloved family, my closest friends (some of whom I’d know for decades). I thought of my beautiful German Shepherd and the cataracts in his left eye. I felt like whimpering, crying to myself as I rocked gently with the sway of the moving carriage as it pulled into Domestic Terminal. I considered the reality that I may not be there to see him go, and felt guilty - even selfish for leaving him behind, with no way of communicating to him from the other side of the world just how much I loved him.

I thought about the wonderful students I'd developed a strong and supportive bond with, and considered how far they'd come in such a short period of time; their improved behaviour and newly found sense of confidence in the classroom formed the foundation of my memories at the school. In that moment of introspection, I felt so proud to have played a part in honing their sense of self, but also disappointed and again, guilty that I would not be there to see them graduate. I felt as though I were letting them down.

As the train departed Mascot’s platform, the dark tunnel the carriage had now entered had begun to resemble the amalgamation of conflicting thoughts and feelings I'd had over the last few months leading to my impending migration.

I saw more commuters enter the carriage at Green Hills Station - the majority carrying or dragging suitcases with them in excess. I fantasied about their stories, particularly the families with small children in tow. Are they tourists here in Sydney? Are they new migrants to our sunburnt land? Are they travelling for work, like me? Is my homeland more prosperous than theirs? Am I arrogant to complain about how ‘bored’ I am in Sydney when its beauty and conveniences are always at the tip of my fingers?

As the train climbed the slow decent of the underground tunnel out into the open air, the exposure of the convoluted railway lines reminded passengers bound for Central Station that they were due to alight. The morning sun was strangely reassuring as it shone throughout the carriage, enveloping me in a comforting wave of warmth. An immediate sense of reassurance that everything would be ok dawned upon me as the sunlight soaked my summer-tanned skin and the railway tracks untangled into singular lines, directing decisive routes for the drivers.

I disembarked the carriage with a sea of tourists and chic locals who were undoubtedly headed for the nearest coffee cart before their morning stroll to work. Upon swiping my trusty Opal card at the barrier, I blended amongst the mixed crowd walking towards the Eddy Street exit before noticing my mother and sister standing at the station's exit. With smiles on their faces, they waved eagerly before turning to each other with a look of pleasant anticipation, then headed my way. We had planned for a ‘Girls’ Day Out’ months ago but our busy schedules had prevented such a time until now.

As we moved toward each other, I foresaw the feeling of elation we’d experience when we were once again reunited upon my return from the U.K. The overwhelming excitement would undoubtedly lead to a steep low the next day as I readjusted back to life in Australia. I would certainly long for the company of my new friends in England, the cooler weather, and the English comforts I’d become accustomed to over time; however, I would feel at ease because my family would be within arms reach once again.

The loving presence of my mother and sister at Sydney’s Central Station that morning was a reminder that I’d always have the strong support of my family and closest friends to form the resilience of my foundation. Regardless of where I travelled to, with whom or for how long, I would never truly be alone. In that moment of realisation under the sunny archway at Central Station, I knew this for certain.

That morning journey on the Airport Line stabilised the anxious thoughts preluding my imminent international departure. The emergence from the underground tunnel reminded me that life is not meant to be lived in the dark – in fear of the unknown or spent in waiting. Life is to be embraced and every opportunity for adventure grasped tightly with both hands. Life is a labyrinth and it is how we navigate it that determines our destination and our success.

Sunday 29^th November marked a new day - a new way of thinking and a new chapter in my life, just as December 27^th would mark the beginning of a promising and exciting new life for me.

By Belinda Pearce

29^th November 2015.