F**king Men - Off West End - Review

★★★★☆

Joe DiPietro’s F**king Men cleverly explores how seemingly simple sexual encounters can ripple out to change lives in unexpected ways. The play teeters between playful oversexualisation and a genuinely insightful use of intimacy as a narrative device, ultimately asking: is sex just sex, or is it the deepest form of human connection?

F**king Men is structured as a modern riff on Arthur Schnitzler’s 1897 play La Ronde, offering a bold and unapologetic look at the intimate connections between gay men in contemporary society. The story kicks off with a male prostitute propositioning an American army officer — a provocative opening that immediately sets the tone for the raw honesty of what follows. From there, the play unfolds as a series of interconnected two-handers, with one character from each scene carrying the thread into the next. As we move through clandestine encounters between soldiers, students, actors, journalists, and professionals, the audience witnesses a rich tapestry of desire, vulnerability, and longing. The narrative eventually comes full circle when the prostitute, now dreaming of a different life with a man he loves, finds himself in the apartment of a jaded journalist. Through its deceptively simple structure, the play highlights how even the most fleeting moments of intimacy can leave lasting impressions.

First and foremost, huge credit must go to director Steven Kunis and intimacy director Lee Crowley, whose deft, sensitive handling of F**king Men ensures that a play packed with nudity and sexual encounters remains tasteful, respectful, and profoundly human. It would have been easy for the production to tip into gratuitousness, but instead, every intimate moment serves character development and storytelling, highlighting the complexity and vulnerability behind each connection. Kunis’s direction strikes a careful balance between comedy and poignancy, and Crowley’s work ensures the actors move through scenes of physicality with authenticity and emotional safety.

Sven Ironside shines in his dual roles as both a recently dumped school tutor and an eccentric, larger-than-life playwright. His performances are full of comic energy and physical flair, often playing on familiar stereotypes for laughs without ever letting them slip into caricature. Ironside’s skill lies in knowing exactly when to pull back, grounding his characters with enough emotional truth to make them recognisable and real. His work feels like a playful but thoughtful exploration of performative sexuality within the LGBTQ+ community, and he is very funny.

Rob Alexander-Adams brings a quiet strength and sensitivity to his two contrasting roles: the older ‘daddy’ figure who seeks connection with younger men, and a closeted journalist grappling with internalised prejudice. In both parts, Alexander-Adams delivers grounded performances that avoid melodrama. His portrayals feel lived-in and honest, capturing the quieter sadness and resilience that run beneath many of the play’s fleeting sexual encounters. Watching him work is a real pleasure, offering some of the production’s most heartfelt and understated moments.

Peter Caulfield proves to be one of the production’s most dynamic chameleons, tackling three distinct roles with an impressive range that makes the actor himself almost invisible. Caulfield first appears as a stern American soldier, tightly wound and violently defensive of his own suppressed desires. He then shifts effortlessly into the role of a long-term husband in an open marriage, bringing subtlety and tenderness to a portrayal of enduring love. Finally, Caulfield transforms into Brandon, an East London Oscar-nominated actor so deep in the closet he could practically holiday in Narnia. Caulfield’s performances are so sharply differentiated that there's never a moment of confusion for the audience — a true masterclass in character acting.

Benedict Clarke rounds out the quartet with an equally compelling set of performances, playing a horny college student, a kind-hearted yet overtly sexual prostitute, and an emotionally bruised porn star searching for genuine love. Clarke’s characters are bound together by an intense sexual energy, which occasionally makes their differentiation more subtle than it might be, but he nonetheless brings emotional detail and nuance to each portrayal. His work, particularly as the prostitute looking for a way out of his current life, adds a layer of poignancy that lingers long after the final scene.

F**king Men succeeds in offering a broad, if sometimes cheeky, tapestry of gay male experiences, capturing the different personalities, flaws, and desires within the LGBTQ+ community. With a predominantly gay audience at the performance I attended, the show's humour landed brilliantly — particularly the in-jokes that affectionately poked fun at familiar community tropes. One critique, however, lies in the play’s inclusion of a conversation about HIV: while it's an undeniably important subject, its brief mention here felt shoehorned in rather than integral to the narrative. Given that HIV/AIDS has been a central theme in so many queer stories already, it might have been refreshing for F**king Men to trust its broader emotional storytelling without leaning on familiar territory that wasn't fully explored.

Cara Evans’s set design is a stroke of simple, elegant genius. A clear perspex divider bisects the stage, transforming from transparent to opaque at the flick of a lighting cue — a stunning technical feat achieved with subtle precision thanks to Alex Lewer’s lighting design. Behind the divider sits a utilitarian bench; in front, a circular bed becomes the anchor for the many locations the play navigates. From a sauna to a luxury apartment to a broom cupboard, the team transports the audience between vastly different settings with nothing more than clever lighting and imaginative staging. The costumes were equally understated but smartly chosen: small shifts, a shirt, a dressing gown, or yes, even multiple pairs of underpants (I think Peter Caulfield wore four different pairs!), were enough to delineate character transitions without disrupting the flow.

As a gay man, I found F**king Men to be refreshingly candid and warmly self-aware. It allowed for an honest look at some of the community's habits and contradictions, poking fun without cruelty and holding a mirror up without judgment. While the play leans into some stereotypes, it does so knowingly, encouraging the audience to recognise, reflect, and laugh along rather than take offence. This isn't a play aiming to challenge the status quo or offer deep social commentary; instead, it provides a series of intimate, human snapshots, letting audiences peek behind closed doors at the tender, messy, and often hilarious world of queer intimacy.

If I’m being honest, F**king Men comes tantalisingly close to a five-star triumph. There’s a slight distance that prevented me from being fully immersed — perhaps due to the relentless pace of the hookups, a few story threads left dangling, or the occasional overreliance on stereotypes for laughs. But these are small quibbles when set against the sheer enjoyment and resonance this production offers. This is a bold, funny, and often beautiful exploration of human connection, told through the lens of queer lives without apology or artifice. Catch it while you can — F**king Men is a vibrant, vital piece of theatre that deserves to be seen.

F**king Men runs at Waterloo East Theatre until 26 May.