Andrew (Jimmy Essex) having put himself through college and qualified in massage therapy, now runs a small Florida practise and is building a solid base of satisfied clients. Mr Millar (Billy Walker) is a plaid wearing, self-confessed blue collar Trump supporter and works opposite at a carpet warehouse where he has developed back and shoulder problems. What at first seems like a fairly hum-drum client session, turns into a grilling about sexuality, bumper stickers on Volvo’s, political affiliations, nudity, the appeals of heteroflexibility, what’s included in the session price, and what practises are most definitely against the rules during such an transactional encounter.
On its own, the scenario would make for a blandly predictable, even irritating play, but during the course of their initially fractious discourse about Adele vs Steely Dan (at no point are Andean pan-pipes nor whale music ever considered as options to accompany the massage), the men circle each other, with Millar (“…call me Rick, no one calls me Mr Millar”) becoming evermore appreciative of the rub-down and inquisitive about how often Andrew gets asked to perform ‘extras’.
Of course there has to be something more going on than the simple set-up we are initially presented with, and sure enough, revelations and a few admissions quickly bubble to the surface as accusations fly, morals slip and a truly happy ending is reached. Whilst some, dimly-lit sexual activity is implied during the course of proceedings, the play is at great pains to suggest that two needy souls may in fact have the basis for a more interesting and substantial connection — although arriving at that conclusion is something of a narrative stretch given the lies and creepy stalking which has evidently taken place to ensure the characters end up in the same room, but sometimes you just have to surrender to the flow and park one’s in-built 21st century cynicism.
Writer/Director Ronnie Larson has wisely corralled his players into a limiting playing area on a perfunctory set which is sufficiently redolent of a massage therapy room with its central table, privacy screens, potted plants and dazzling array of oils and potions, to pass muster. In truth, given the play’s title, I was cautious about accepting the invitation to review, but thankfully the performers imbue a winning charm (and plenty of gleaming LA teeth) to their efforts, which goes a long way to helping matters when an audience is eagerly rooting for those about to root on stage.
HAPPY ENDING continues at Waterloo East until 26th October.
