The world of the media offers plenty of opportunities for satire, but the idea of a comedy about sub-editors seems odd at first glance. After all, the sub-editors, or subs, are hardly journalism’s most glamorous beings. These office-bound nerds spend their working days correcting the spellings of journalists and cutting their copy, while penning pun-heavy headlines and writing captions to pictures.
Yet, as RJ Purdey’s Subs – which was a sell-out hit at this venue last year and now returns for another run – makes clear, there is some comic juice to be squeezed out of the dreams and tribulations of these worker ants. We begin the day in the cramped offices of Gentlemen Prefer… magazine, a lad’s mag with upmarket pretensions.
The sub-editing team of Derek (chief), Finch (deputy) and James (junior) are busy dotting the “i”s and crossing the “t”s of articles submitted by their more glamorous contributors. At the same time, they dream of becoming writers themselves, or editors, or anything other than what they actually are. When a young woman, the freelancer Anna, arrives to work at the office, their cosy little environment of testosterone-fuelled banter is turned upside down.
Much of the action centres on Finch. He is a very attractive character – if you like life’s losers, that is. He’s also an arrogant Welsh know-all, a bigmouth with all the tact of a bull in a porcelain exhibition. With no girlfriend, no taste and no prospects, he’s a wanker in almost every sense. His ambition to be a novelist is clearly doomed, although we are mercifully spared any evidence of his creative side. As he falls for Anna, we just know that ambition will triumph over love.
Finch is a pain and in pain. His boss, Derek, is in scarcely better shape. With two kids and married to a wife who is always on the phone, he aspires to better himself, going for the job of the magazine’s deputy editor, but we just know that he’s never going to make it. Of the junior staff, James is young and efficient while Anna is young and attractive. However, both parts are underwritten.
Purdey writes the male banter of his characters as if he and they are still stuck in a 1990s crisis-of-masculinity play. It’s all so very 1995. As this men’s mag tries to relaunch itself and become more touchy-feely, more family friendly, the old-style formula of nudes and innuendo gets a thorough going-over. But although Purdey’s lame attempt at geezer chic is sprinkled with cheerful vulgarity, most of the dialogue is not so much pedestrian as dead on its feet, with only the odd glimmer of wit amid the verbal dross.
So although Purdey has a nicely sceptical attitude to current platitudes about the digital age – his characters bemoan the fact that most bloggers don’t care about spelling – the play’s ideas about journalism and celebrity are underdeveloped and uninspiring. Nor has it anything contemporary or new to say about sexism, office politics or individual loneliness. Its view of work is conventional; its jokes are predictable.
As directed by Hamish MacDougall, Subs is dominated by Michael Cusick’s noisy and gesticulating Finch, whose loud exclamations and passionate diatribes are the meat of the show. By contrast, Steve Hay’s performance as Derek is a bit too quiet and laidback. He lacks the authority needed for the role, although he does grow as the evening progresses. Naomi Waring’s Anna is convincing enough and Max Krupski’s James is calmly effective.
Disappointingly, however, Purdey’s script is several proofs short of the genuine article.
