The Virgins review – A tornado of gossip, pretense and pain as teens have Friday night sex | stage

II’m watching Maryam Paty’s The Virgins, which was nominated for a 2020 Women’s Playwriting Award, but it’s as if I’ve been transported headfirst back into my teenage years. The film is about a group of teenagers who decide that tonight is the night their sex life finally moves, a tornado of growing pains and pretending to have fun.

It’s a Friday night, and best friends – and virgins – Chloe (Anushka Chakravarty) and Jess (Ella Broccoleri) are preparing to go out for the first time. Joined by their gossip-hoarding friend Phoebe (played by the hysterical Molly Hewitt-Richards), who panics at even the mention of physical contact, they brush their teeth and straighten their hair in anticipation of the arrival of Anya (Zoe Armer) from the year above to teach them everything they need to know. Better yet, Chloe’s brother, Joel (Rajevan Vasan), who practically cringes when a girl walks in, and his “really proper” friend Mel (Alec Bowden) are playing video games next door. With no parents at home and vodka mixers at the ready, the night is a recipe for success.

Patty’s script has each room discussing the other as if it contained exotic wild animals. The girls gather in the hallway, gasping and gasping at the boys staring at the TV screen, while Anya dispenses advice in an attempt to assert her strength. Sexual experience is the currency here, and Chloe, a perfect Chakravarty, works hard to impress Anya with fabricated stories and feigned confidence, avoiding her real friends in the process. Elsewhere, Joel follows Mel’s advice as if it were taken from the golden rule book.

The men’s threat is never far from sight: Phoebe can barely summon the words when a boy enters the room, and the girls plan signals to alert each other if they find themselves in uncomfortable situations. However, there are still bubbles of desire beneath their half-open conversations. Watching them perform in adulthood is an unnerving experience.

The play, directed by Jaz Woodcock-Stewart, plays out like a horror film in short, sharp shots. Between scenes, darkness descends on the stage as dramatic orchestral music begins. When the lights come back on, every moment feels like it’s on the brink, even if some key elements are left unexplained — the rumors surrounding Anya, or the roots of Mel’s speech about being disillusioned by women.

However, Patti’s strength is in writing scenes that feel completely real. If you’ve ever lived the awkward choreography of such nights, The Virgins lands uncomfortably close to home.