Boys on the Verge of Tears
Exploring a sympathetic view of toxic masculinity
In Sam Grabiner’s debut play Boys on the Verge of Tears you sit on your plush red velvet seats as… a fly on the wall in a men’s public toilet! At first this might seem like a disturbing and intrusive space to spend nearly two hours in but these public urinals become a vessel for an endearing and sympathetic view of masculinity. Under this stench of the stale, unsavory odors of urinals, sinks, and stalls, where toddlers whine about needing to pee and 20-somethings do lines at the club, one constant remains: the struggle between man's desire to express vulnerability and his discomfort when confronted with it himself.
The 2022 winner of Soho Theatre’s Verity Bargate Award, Boys on the Verge of Tears, features the same 5 actors in 50 different roles ranging from little boys to a terminally ill grandfather. In 100 minutes worth of male to male interactions directed by James MacDonald, the expectations placed on men by each other are revealed. In its writer’s words, it’s a play “about playing a version of yourself for other people, and how ridiculously exhausting that performance can be”.
Without a doubt, the impeccably acted play succeeds in illustrating our innate desire as humans to impress others. As pre-teen schoolboys frantically get ready for a mixer where girls will be present, one boy asks his friends a universal question: to tuck the shirt in or let it hang out? When one of them misses the memo that actually wearing costumes to costume parties isn’t cool anymore, he throws his toy gun in the bin once the others have left.
For me, a young woman, living at a time where feminism is widely misunderstood and incel culture is thriving, it was oddly comforting to be reminded that in many ways, men and women aren’t so different in their internal relationships. However, I ultimately found the play far too apologetic when it comes to words and actions by men that hurt both women and themselves.
So for me, one of the play’s most shocking scenes was in a flippant conversation between two teenagers skiving off at school. One boy, played by Matthew Beard, enthusiastically recounts how he lost his virginity to a drunken girl, who was described as barely being able to move. His friend, played by Calvin Demba, excuses his mate’s behaviour with a “it’s not rape if it’s …”. The whole thing gives off a "Forgive them, for they know not what they do" vibe, which feels far too lenient in today’s culture, where teens have been raised during the #MeToo movement and most have had access to resources like the “Tea Consent” video in sex education programmes. Unfortunately, this scene was also one of the only portrayals of a man opening up where another one didn’t shut him down.
In the club bathroom, a nursing student gets punched in the face while trying to assess whether a bleeding party-goer has a concussion. Meanwhile, a dying man tells his stepson he has just found love in his mother—now that he is dying—but the stepson listens out of obligation, awkwardly shifting from toe to heel. The lack of positive responses to male vulnerability creates a sense of doom and gloom for men. By overlooking exceptions to the rule, the play feels more like a pity party than the insightful commentary it almost achieves.
Still, Boys on the Verge of Tears effectively illustrates how masculinity is shaped from childhood. With a cast of just five, when an actor plays an older character, it feels as though we’re witnessing the evolution of a younger character from a previous scene. A toddler who is scolded for showing his genitals later mirrors an aggressive drunk who attacks a stranger performing a health check on him. Also, through spot-on nods to London pop culture, the play reminds West End audiences that they run rampant not in some fictional reality, but in their own lives and likely even their own circles.
That being said, what’s special about the play is not its deeper meaning, but how it is conveyed to the audience. The hyper realistic set pieces almost trick you into thinking you’re in a real public toilet - the taps run and the toilets flush against the wall’s tired tiles. The sound design assures you there’s a whole world behind them when the club door swings open and the music playing behind it gets louder. The light design convinces you that dawn has arrived after a long night. Little in the play is left to the imagination, allowing the audience to be fully immersed in what feels like real people’s experiences, rather than an imitation.
Boys on the Verge of Tears forces you into the shoes of men, young and old, in the 21st century. As little is left to the imagination, you come to intimately know the characters, and are given a real insight into the complexities of growing up under the constricting binaries of masculinity. Nonetheless, it left me with a strange taste in my mouth. Whilst the pain of man's aversion to emotion is clear to the audience, we are continually complicit in this suppression, laughing at characters making "your mum" jokes. Although this might prompt reflection on our actions as audience members, for me there just wasn’t enough sympathy for the women who are hurt by it.
By Justine Noble