Punk Rock
Lyric, Hammersmith
What are the politics of youth? Usually, the young are seen as a positive force – they are, after all, the future. And, on a good day, they are idealistic and progressive – often less prejudiced than their elders. At the same time, and this is evident in Simon Stephens’ new drama, Punk Rock, youth can also be frail, troubled and vulnerable.
Set in a Stockport grammar school on the eve of A-levels, the play starts off with the tender encounter between two 17-year-olds, local fantasist William and newcomer Lily, who has just arrived from Cambridge. He asks her out; she says no. When he finds out that she’s got another boyfriend, the athletic Nicholas, the temperature rises. Meanwhile, another boy, the arrogant bully Bennett, is tormenting both the school swot, Chadwick, and another girl, Tanya. Very slowly, the tensions boil over.
It has to be said that Stephens is less interested in the state of British schools than in the clash of individuals within an isolated group. This is less a social issue play than a study of group psychology. Despite their comfortable middle-class backgrounds, his teenagers are a tight fistful of fears – from the dread of failing exams to discontent with body image and from the acute anxieties over sexuality to
self-harm and homicidal rage. As such, they symbolise the fears of parents and present a snapshot of a Britain beset with dread.
At one point, when William discovers that Lily burns herself with a cigarette lighter, a rare moment of empathy and hope radiates from the stage. More typical moments, however, are those scenes in which Bennett exults in humiliating his classmates, and the provocative episode which ends with him spitting at Tanya draws gasps of outrage. Whether these kids are mocking the local chavs, or dreaming of escape from Stockport’s claustrophobic confines, there is a nihilistic undercurrent which pulses like black bile just below the surface.
These middle-class youngsters are every suburban parent’s nightmare. They are either foul-mouthed aggressive bullies, or deeply troubled neurotics – and the gradual escalation of their conflicts ends in the kind of mindless violence that sticks to the front pages for days. But while it is good that Stephens focuses on the middle class, instead of peering into the lower depths, his conclusions are equally disturbing.
Although Chadwick’s apocalyptic vision of a future Britain ripped apart by social breakdown is balanced by an optimistic speech from Lily, which concludes that 99 per cent of young people are alright, the shocking violence of the play’s ending is enough to stay with you long after you leave the theatre.
Yes, this is a play that will split audiences. Older spectators might seriously question whether it is right to show such nihilistic violence without providing a rational reason for it. In fact, Stephens expressly rejects any explanation for the events he puts on stage. For younger audiences, this seems to be less of a problem and they are bound to instantly recognise these characters and the uncertainty, rawness and fierceness of their emotion.
Punctuated by blasts of rock music from the likes of Sonic Youth, the Stooges and the White Stripes, Punk Rock – in Sarah Frankcom’s uneven production with its youthful cast – conveys a sense of the hormonal confusions, anarchic fantasy and psychological precariousness of British teenagers today. For all the awkwardness of the acting, this is a play that sticks your fingers straight into an electric socket and holds them there. If you’re young, it will speak directly to you; if you’re not, it might make you glad of the fact.
Aleks Sierz
