The super duo consisting of writer (and actor, director) Paul Bradshaw and director Imogen Frances deliver not one, but two hard-hitting and introspective one-act plays in their double bill tell me straight and aggy at Park Theatre's black box studio space Park90. Both pieces explore modern dating, relationships, and identity, combining sharp humor with uncomfortable questions about who we really are, and who we pretend to be.
As the audience walks into the room, they are met with a beautiful set designed by Damien Stanton. It's sleek, elegant and simple, carrying a lot of character in its grey wooden structure. It could easily become anything. Yet it is simultaneously oddly sterile, perhaps a nudge to the main character's personality - a compact, patient, kind, and together kind of guy (he meditates after all), while simultaneously letting the curious but mostly straight men he encounters push him down and contain himself, never really allowing himself to express or get what he actually wants, or perhaps more accurately, stopping himself from meeting the kind of person he actually needs.
Paul Bradshaw plays the leading man, Him, currently on a detox from alcohol, fast food, and cheap shags, taking the audience on a heartfelt, comedic, and raw performance that seems deeply personal and urgent to the writer. Opposing Bradshaw is Buck Braithwaite, multi-roling every other character. Braithwaite gives a masterclass in multi-roling while playing Mark, Ryan and Lee - each carrying different accents, personalities, and different trauma - and each on their own journey of exploring who they are and their sexuality, largely unaware of the turbulence this causes for Him. The chemistry between these actors is off the charts.
Narrated through breakaways, phone calls and voice notes, fourth wall breaks, and Him's direct addresses to the audience with a captivating and charming glint in his eye, supported by clean and snappy tech and lighting changes, the story invites the spectator in and quickly makes Him feel like a close friend to the audience. The piece becomes a sort of compilation of the different kinds of straight men wanting to see what else there is besides women, yet never admitting that this is something they actually want to explore. The stigma is alive and well, even in 2026.
tell me straight becomes the story of Him constantly pulling straight men rather than a man who is proudly and clearly interested in men. These bizarre and hilariously awkward situations - indecisive men figuring out who they are, or hiding their true selves at the expense of Him - have the audience in stitches throughout the performance, until Him finally learns to stand up for himself. It's a story so full of heart, soul, humor and personality that it's difficult not to be charmed by it.
As the audience returns to watch the second piece of the night, aggy (co-directed by Bradshaw and Frances), they are met by the frantic Lawrence, Matthew Jordan, pacing around waiting for his partner Mahlik, Jean-Luke Worrell, to arrive. They are moving in together today. The set is completely transformed despite being the exact same structure, now a colourful, artistic living room. To the audience's delight the move-in is enchantingly awkward, setting the pace of the play and highlighting the adorably clumsy excitement of a couple just moving in together.
In aggy, Lawrence and Mahlik explore identity, race, marginalisation, and the magical word we all love - USP (Unique Selling Points). When Mahlik suggests to Lawrence whether it would be a good idea to alter elements of his personality - not necessarily true, in order to gain traction, interest, and a chance to get ahead and essentially placing himself in the category of a minority, the play asks the question ‘how far is too far?'. It hints at the uncomfortable question ‘has being white and cic gendered become a disadvantage in today's art and performance scene?' The piece debates wether we may not be special or interesting enough unless we identify as X, Y, or Z, and touches on identity expression versus what some may call being too “woke”, as well as the idea of a victim complex in a world and industry filled with marginalized minorities who are starting to get the chance to play on a more even playing field.
On another, similarly existential level, the piece also discusses the transformation of a relationship, inspecting how much change we can accept or comprehend when in a relationship with someone else. What begins as a sitcom-type play having the audience in stitches, quickly turns into a far more serious piece asking the question “who am I?”, and what happens when we make an informed decision to lie about who we are to gain traction.
The set design is vibrant and reflects the play accurately - very well done considering it is a studio black box space. Set designer Damien Stanton, sound designer Eamonn O'Dwyer, and lighting designer Cheng Keng transform the friendly living room of the couple into a full-blown LED neon rave-party club. The piece is also supported by a digital screen, with content designed by Matt Powell, operating as both a window and a social media broadcasting screen, with the character Rex played by Jack Gittins appearing on screen. An important back drop of the piece is that it is set in a world where social media is one of our most important tools, and the exploration, usage, and impact are directly related to our modern-day world's emphasis on it all. It begs another line of questions including ‘How fake or pre-planned is social media actually?', and ‘How much impact do we allow others to have on our lives?'.
What these two plays have in common is that they both manage to make a clear statement and ask hard-hitting questions within a single act. Through direct addresses, fourth wall breaks, and moments of commentary, they invite the audience into the performances in a way that feels immediate and personal. They are witty, clever, and very funny, yet also thoughtful and questioning. Despite their similarities, they are clearly their own shows, with a strong sense of belonging to Bradshaw. A strong delivery by cast, creatives, and everybody involved.
It runs until 28 March.
Review: Levi Rønneberg Photos: Criag Fuller