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.

Fear of the Unknown

London Calling

It was a cold and drizzly Tuesday afternoon. I’d just left work, happy to have left with a feeling of elation that my six lessons that day had gone off without a hitch… and having chatted with my crush made it all the more better. The wipers undulated slowly across my windscreen, slightly blurred by the fine moisture emanating throughout the atmosphere below the dark, foreboding clouds. No Doubt’s ‘Settle Down’ played through my car speakers. I sang along emphatically as I normally would within the safe, non-judgmental confines of my black Jeep Wrangler.

‘You can see it in my eyes / You can read it on my lips

I’m trying to get a hold of this…’

As the lyrics continued, my chest tightened slightly, leading to a sudden and deep breath of inhalation. In this unexpected moment of previously avoided introspection, I remembered the life decisions I needed to address. As the lyrics suggested, I was trying to come to terms with something. The uncertainty, the doubt, the anxiety… it was still there, threatening to consume the forefront of my mind; threatening to wipe my pleasant, short-term memory clear, much like the wipers sarcastically waving to me from the outside of the windscreen. As Gwen Stefani’s vocals endured, little did I know that the song I was so happily belting out foreshadowed what was to happen next. And further to that, what would happen next would be the perfect metaphor for my current situation.

**

Driving my usual route home, I noticed a digital traffic update sign that flashed 'Accident on Richmond Road. Take detour.' “Poor bugger…” I thought, silently thanking God that it wasn’t me. I flicked on my left indicator and moved into the next lane of the freeway, leading me to take an earlier exit than usual so as to avoid the expected delays.

Gearing down appropriately as I approached the red traffic lights, I touched the brake peddle and came to a complete stop. I squinted at the street signs through the misty air: one pointed left, the other right. It was an intersection I was unfamiliar with though I recognised the street name. I made an executive decision within due course before the lights turned green – my inner compass has always steered me in the right direction. “Right it is,” I said aloud as I slowly but surely released my foot from the brake. Much like riding a bicycle, my foot now pressed gently upon the accelerator as if automated to do so without a second thought.

As I crawled my Jeep around the ever-dampening bend, my eyes remained focussed on the cars in the two lanes to my right. One car was slightly overhanging its lane, clearly having misjudged its ability to fit in behind the car that was ahead. Knowing I had to be even more careful, and acknowledging that my tyres had a tendency to slide erratically in wet weather, I lightly tapped the brake with my right foot so as to slow down even more.

Big mistake.

Suddenly, my car careened around the bend uncontrollably, and at an unexpected speed. The back tyres seemed to have absolutely no grip. I’d lost control of the vehicle. I put my foot down harder on the brake - no dice. I turned the steering wheel as fast as I could to avoid hitting the car that had driven up alongside mine. I spun the wheel one way then the other. My reliable Jeep had lost its shit. Before I knew it, I was situated halfway up the sidewalk facing oncoming traffic. I was directly below the freeway’s underpass at the time.

The most dramatic part was over. I was at a full stop. I was unharmed. I was safe. Miraculously, I’d avoided hitting any cars at the T-intersection and although I did feel a sudden jolt as my Jeep exceeded the gutter, the incident left me quite literally parked perfectly between two enormous cement pylons. Somehow, I’d managed to avoid making contact with either one.

‘No big deal (I can handle it) / It’ll bounce off me (I can handle it)’

I wasn't hurt. I wasn't even rattled. I distinctly remember my unsettlingly logical and calm train of thought as my car spun into a frenzy: "I cannot afford an insurance claim right now. This is bad timing. I really don’t need this. If I have an accident, I’ll have to call work and let them know I won’t be in. What a hassle!" Logical, calm and forward-planning as always. Though my immediate reaction to the potentially fatal situation was alarmingly skewed, it did instigate me to drive with more patience and care from then on.

As soon as the car came to a halt, I took off my seat belt, pulled up the handbrake and started to reach for the ignition, ready to switch off the Jeep and assess the damage. It hadn’t quite clicked that I’d gotten off scot-free. As I looked at the two pylons neighbouring either side of my front bonnet, I realised just how lucky I had been. No one had been hurt. There was not a scratch or dent to be seen. Few people saw so my dignity remained intact. As my motor continued to hum healthily, I assessed the area for oncoming traffic and reversed back into my original lane. Slowly I made my way home via the detour I otherwise would not have taken had there not been a reported accident on my usual route home.

**

The near miss became a symbol of my inability to choose between the two choices I was facing at the time: the comfortable path I was already on as a high school teacher, or to forge ahead towards the challenging obstacle course that was the unknown. If you're a close friend, loved one or acquaintance, you would know I lead a very busy and purposeful life. Leaving no stone unturned, my spare time is often spent writing and researching for personal fulfilment, learning a second language, working as a P.A. at geek cons, playing guitar and piano, and dedicating a good amount of time to exercise. If this comes as no surprise to you, then you'd also know I've booked a one-way ticket to London in 2016.

"You must be so excited!" people chime. "London! This must be a dream come true!" The response to both of these statements is a dull and boring "no". Besides the fact that many focus on the 'holiday' aspect of the journey rather than the stress of migration, the impending move to London has evoked in me a sense, or rather, fear of the unknown.

Currently, my future in London is completely set: teaching work is all systems go; working visa has been sorted, and accommodation is close to finalisation. However, if the extensive administration of moving to London was so simple and stress-free, why then am I so damn opposed to the idea?

Plan B was hurled into action as soon as the doubts began to surface. Ardently, I set forth on a job hunt, passionately seeking a career outside of teaching that would allow me to immerse myself in the world of writing. The ABC advertised a position that had me head over heels in love with the idea of working for a highly respected and ethical media corporation; but alas, my heart was broken when, after spending a solid two weeks writing a three-thousand word selection criteria document, I received the dreaded email that my application had been rejected. Painstakingly, I continued to search for similar jobs, my mind set on establishing a career that prided itself on truth, accuracy and the exposure of media manipulation. It was soon after the professional rejection that I came across a position modestly titled ‘Writer and Editor’ for an eclectic Sydney marketing agency.

Upon calling the Editorial Director, I learned that the role comprised of copywriting and managing social media for a multitude of fields: design, business, hospitality and medical to name a few. I could do this job with my eyes closed. The next six days were spent working tirelessly on a cover letter that thoroughly addressed the obscure selection criteria of the advertised position. During our phone call, the E.D. had noted that applications were open for another three weeks, so I had plenty of time to make this one count.

Only hours after my car had spun out of control on the wet and slippery road, I was eating dinner and sitting at my open Macbook Air, decidedly set on completing my convincing application. Another hour later and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Done...” So eager was I to apply that I’d kept the advertisement open in my web browser for six days – its presence acting as a reminder that the figurative clock was ticking. Ready to submit, I clicked Google Chrome’s ‘refresh’ icon. However, rather than being invited to ‘Apply now’, I was met with ‘Sorry – this job is no longer advertised.’

‘Here we go again / Are you insane?
Underneath the avalanche / So heavy again…’

I felt lost, even more so than before. I felt directionless. I felt hopeless. I felt like I wasn’t good enough… No – rather, I felt like I was damn good but my talents and expertise were being disregarded by future employers, and wasted in my current job. I felt frustrated. My future was hanging in the balance, and I was desperately grasping for lifelines that just weren’t there.

“Maybe I’m destined for London,” I thought before dragging myself to bed, dejected. “Maybe that’s the universe’s plan.”

Of my decision to live abroad, my friends and family have been incredibly supportive - I cannot fault them on that. Each of them wholeheartedly wishes for me to embark on the adventure as they know I’ll realise aspirations that would otherwise have gone unaccomplished in Australia. They lament on upcoming ventures they envision for me. They tell me exactly how we will communicate in the future - Skype calls with my friends and their yet-to-be-conceived children is the agreed mode. They tell me that they will miss me dearly, and selfishly wish I’d find a job in Sydney so that we can continue to see each other on a regular basis. Although their support has been so very appreciated, it has me left questioning my ability to cope in a foreign land without so much as a loved one’s hug for months on end.

Then there are the heartstrings, and the incredible guy tugging at them. As individuals in a highly digitalised society where face-to-face interactions are becoming more uncommon by the day, rarely do we meet people we have an instant connection with, as if drawn to them by some unknown force. Sure, I’ve only known my crush for a short period of time, but our conversations both in and outside of the workplace have led me to consider him a valued friend. I was instantly comfortable with this gentleman, as if I’d known him for years. Within a week or two, I found I was sharing my inner thoughts, hidden 'talents' (or rather, my less than desirable musical attempts), expressing self-doubt without restriction, and exposing my flaws quite comfortably. It was (and continues to be) a beautiful feeling.

While our paths seemed to cross in synchronicity with our experiences at the time, London remained a ticking time bomb, threatening to destroy the positive progress made with this intelligent, witty, grounded, soulful and kind-hearted man. Though regardless of who the love interest may be, my commitment to international migration created a temporary barricade around my love life, the sign stating ‘OFF LIMITS’ to any man who may be interested in getting to know me further. London soon became the invasive chaperone that ends your date before you get the goodnight kiss. It is the stroke of midnight that turns a beautiful ballgown back into rags. In an ideal world, our friendship would blossom into a solid relationship, albeit in due time. I worry that my efforts have been in vain if London's calling lures me to its shores in 2016.

**

As I write this, it continues to rain. Not drizzle, but pour. I’m sitting at my desk in an empty staff room, listening to the obnoxious ticking of the clock on the wall, well-aware that I’ve stayed well-passed my usual finish time, and further aware of the stringent amount of time I have to make a decision about my immediate future. If time is of the essence, then, like my wily car accident, it’s no wonder I’m so uncentred.

That said, I am resilient. I am focussed within my very being. I know exactly what my end goal is, though I may not always like the journey. I persevere, I endure, and I overcome obstacles as they occur.

**

As I drove away from the dangerously damp intersection of which my car slid, I couldn’t help but thank God resonantly for not only keeping me safe, but for making me the irrepressible person I am today. ‘Settle Down’ continued to play as I glanced back at the freeway’s underpass. Despite the immediate events, I continued to sing along with the equally tenacious Stefani:

‘I’m a rough and tough / And nothing’s gonna knock this girl down…’

By Belinda Pearce

4/11/15