Jamie Syke’s eloquent drama is a marvellous leap into the pernicious ends of the incel subculture as it plumbs the depths of the grimy forum world with fresh eyes. We open with a cacophony of laughter as Ghost, Crusher and Einstain launch into a frenzy of vulgarities in their chatroom, drawing parallels with
A fine balance of comedy with the nuance demanded of a play regarding several highly sensitive topics.
The fast-paced dialogue helps to vividly portray the virtual world’s harsh, unforgiving terrain, complimented by use of black portrait frames and matching outfits to reflect anonymity. With interplay between humour and somewhat lengthy dance routines, the act delves further into the machinations of the incel quartet. Behind each one lurks deep-seated insecurity and the faint hint of a person once not so embittered by life’s tribulations before their tumble down the Reddit hole. Gradually, their masks of bravado are slowly stripped away by Margaret’s common sense and the belief that one does deserve happiness, all save the belligerent Crusher.
The play examines the extent to which one willingly sacrifices self-improvement for a sense identity and belonging. Crusher’s refusal to accept help, spitefully banning his now enlightened cohorts, bleeds into a dance of the aptly chosen Only You by Yazoo as his initial relish of king-nothing status dissolves, collapsing under the weight of the chain-like black frames as his moniker ‘The Last Incel’ is sealed.
Sykes finely balances comedy (“I own no less than seven fedoras” is a ripping inclusion) with the nuance demanded of a play regarding highly sensitive topics such as self-hatred, misogyny, and violence. Perhaps some irony is lost in the heightism gags and penis puns that, rather than reclaim a sense of collective insecurity, emboldens audience laughter of male shame that risks undoing the intended message for self-acceptance and improvement. This is a delicate bridge to gap, and minor inconsistencies like this risk credibility. But as Margaret reminds us, self-care begins at home and it is nobody else’s responsibility to save you.
Fittingly, Syke’s triumphant piece doesn’t seek to unravel the innumerable idiosyncrasies and circular logic of inceldom. Rather, with wit and tightly bound writing, it conveys the layers of one’s haphazard journey into the odious philosophy and, crucially, affirms the all-important tenant of choice in response to life’s misfortunes.
