Mike Bartlett's quaint three-hander concerning generation gaps, polyamory and meditations on modernity is a fun, albeit unimpactful romantic comedy full of awkward musings, touching confessions, and perhaps a little too much vulgarity.
While hearing the voice of Postman Pat describing sexual fantasies wasn't quite what I had on my bingo card for 2025, Unicorn delivers not only this but plenty of the unexpected, flipping the tropes of romantic comedy - sappy emotions, heartwarming moments and romantic fantasies - into an insightful experimentation of stifled love, claustrophobic relationships and the mythical concept of the 'throuple'. The play is indeed both romantic and comedic, yet not in the conventional sense: humour comes from an almost idiosyncratic, deadpan delivery to the audience with a knowing wink, while the romance is at times closer to a confused hostility rather than grandiose affection. It doesn't always work - playwright Bartlett inserts too much of his presence into the text, writing with a crude mixture of swearing and unnatural poeticism, and the final scenes feel more like a sprint to the finish rather than an earned resolution - however, it's an introspective look into a different form of love that will certain land with its demographic (with a glass of gin and tonic in hand).
As a three-person, intimate play, this is a piece that relies on fantastic performances, and while none of them are anything noteworthy, they're entertaining enough to hold the audience for its 2 hour 20 minute runtime. Stephen Mangan as Nick sells the awkward humour well enough, although perhaps too well; it's hard to buy him as the charismatic and enigmatic figure that both women fall in love with. Nicola Walker as Polly digs a little deeper into the emotional core and frustrations of the character, yet it's unfortunately rather one-note: the witty character is captured, but there's a lack of development during the episodic piece. The strongest performance comes from Erin Doherty as Kate, however, who provides the most nuanced characterisation - a girl who is mature in her thoughts and reasoning, while worldly inexperienced and naive. It's unexpected - and perhaps to the play's detriment - that the most interesting relationship isn't the romantic triangle at its centre, but rather the generational relationship between Doherty's Kate, and her hopeful partners.
Bartlett's writing style is more interesting than it is compelling or gripping: he writes with a precise delicacy that prioritises articulation over character as neither Nick, Polly nor Kate feel like autonomous individuals, but rather vehicles of Bartlett's social experimentation, a sentiment reflected in James Macdonald's direction. The staging is incredibly clinical, with the trio only ever sharing the space with a singular set piece on a reflective floor, lending a sense of voyeurism to the piece through its exposure and emotional sterility. Miriam Beuther amplifies this through her set design that feels entirely claustrophobic, with a curved back wall rarely opening up save for a few pivotal scenes of monumental change: moments when it feels as if our protagonist's boundaries have been expanded. While this is interesting to observe, this entire direction feels at odds with the emotional core of the piece, unable to truly connect and invest in the relationship and thus the production loses an awful lot of heart.
Much like the concept of a unicorn discussed in the play, great plays are rather rare; the majority lie in a middle ground of enjoyable, but lacking in presence and memorability. With more heart and nuanced performances, Unicorn could offer something special in its analysis of polyamory, however it its current state it feels more like a staged social writing exercise than a living, breathing reflection of love.
Unicorn runs at the Garrick Theatre until 26th April.
★★★☆☆ (3*)
Gifted tickets in return for an honest review | Photography by Marc Brenner
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