Review of 'Pornography' at The Traverse * * * 1/2

Porn really is overrated. Ok. It's exciting at first. The brief rise in temperature, the sweaty fondle, the quick release of...what? Tiredness? Boredom? Perhaps there's something dangerous...thrilling? But, so what. What is left? A sticky mess and another pool of tissues flushed or thrown away. Do you love what you've just seen? Do you love her or him that has just bared their all to you? It's just fucking, right? No harm done. No connection made. Nothing lost. Right?

Much has been written about Simon Stephen's 'Pornography'. Written as a monologue it takes us into a capital city where communication consists of crackly i-pods and annoyed glances. A London of unspoken angst and fear of, well, pretty much everyone and everything. It's July 2005 and London is about to win The Olympic bid. Live 8 plays on every TV and radio and Pink Floyd wows crowds.

Director Sean Holmes envisages 8 characters - four lonely souls and two troubled couplings. We have the incestuous brother and sister; the old lecturer and his adoring, now grown up, student; the terrorist bomber, the rebellious teenager, the bitter and cynical old woman and the run up and wrung out city worker. We follow their lives and opinions up to and including the fateful day of the July 7th bombings.

Designer, Paul Wills sets us up in a dark and dingy abandoned tube station. Lines fly overhead and wires litter the stage. The isolation and loneliness for all is confirmed as each character takes their small beam of light, talks and moves off back into the darkness. This works brilliantly and allows us to focus on these poor creatures, their hopes and fears, their hatreds and hurts. There is nothing fancy about the presentation. These are the people of London. See it. Feel it.

And we do. An extraodinary, if sometimes a bit quiet, performance from Amanda Hale typifies the focus and involvement of all the actors. Sheila Reid makes us laugh at her ridiculous cynical views of the 'modern World' but then blows us away with 10 seconds of silence when she almost breaks down. But it is this moment that shows us the spirit of a London that has been, literally, set on fire by the despicable acts of 7/7. Her character smells barbicued chicken coming from a stranger's house. She knocks and asks if she could have some. At first, the recipient laughs in her face, destroying her then and there, but then repents and gives her some chicken. Her smile lights up the stage.

Yes, London doesn't talk to strangers. London doesn't listen to foreigners. London would prefer to listen to it's i-Pod rather than engage in well, anything else. But London is united. If threatened it'll huddle together and offer shelter and a beer.

Which is why the decision to change the last line in the play is slightly out of place. Holmes' production refuses to glimpse that hope, remaining lost in the dark, lonely World that we have watched descend into bomb-lit hell. Sticky tissues? Personally, I prefer reality.

Holmes' 'Pornography' is dire and bleak and offers us little light. In a World where terrorism is the norm and fear stalks the streets in the shape of a knife, we must cling to every glowing amber of hope that we can.

For another dark, yet funny and hopeful view of London, in the not-too-distant future, go and see 'Involution' at The Pleasance 10 Dome, Midday, everyday (except Monday 18th). For more information, go to this link.

http://www.pleasance.co.uk/edinburgh/listings/search/Involution