This is a Spoiler. It's about something right at the start of the show, so I'm not spoiling much, and I know I'm not alone in doing so. (Last year's review in The Guardian did pretty much the same as I’m about to, though I doubt for the same reason.) I'm making this Spoiler because this show made me angry, more angry than I’ve been for years. Not about its subject, unfortunately. About the show itself.
Fat Blokes, for the most part, is a loud, bold cabaret of spoken word reportage.
So, the Spoiler. Fat Blokes starts when Joe, a large bearded man, begins to dance and slowly undress in what is presumably supposed to be a sexually provocative manner. Suddenly the lights snap up and the show's originator and "MC", Scottee, fiercely demands to know what we're finding so funny? Yes, some in the audience WERE laughing, and I couldn't say for sure that it wasn't in a somewhat mocking manner. But I wasn't. Personally, I find ANYONE trying to dance in a supposedly sexy manner more sad than either funny or sexy, regardless of how "attractive" they supposedly are.
So Fat Blokes starts by accusing me, unjustly, I would say, of a specific, bigoted act, and also uses a cheap trick to attempt to entrap me. Just for a second, I was genuinely furious, which is not, it has to be said, an emotional state I often experience in theatres nowadays. (Arguably, that says more about most theatre than it does about me.) Scottee struck me as condescending, patronising and an arse. But, it did trigger another thought: I hadn't immediately accused those near me, who had laughed, of any form of unfair behaviour. Was I actually guilty by association?
This isn't a work of theatre, at least in terms of it being a narrative told with dramatic import. Fat Blokes, for the most part, is a loud, bold cabaret of spoken word reportage interspaced and intermixed with Lea Anderson's complex choreography, during which these five plus-size men on stage are impossible to ignore. Given that a significant number of the cast are also gay, there's a temptation to suggest (another cliche, another intolerance?) that they’re for once actually flaunting their size, something they can’t necessarily do during their normal lives away from the sanctuary of the stage.
"This is fat rebellion," explains Scottee; certainly, it's an opportunity for us to hear these men's stories of childhood bullying, adult violence and their daily struggle to accept themselves and their bodies within a culture biased towards thinness. Thankfully, there are moments of joy, not least when the men feel strong enough in themselves to take off their smock-like shirts and dance, flesh boldly on show. I'm still angry though. And not entirely convinced.
