The story opens in 2011, when the world hears of the death of Osama bin Laden, and former US soldier Kyle (Callum Mardy) puzzles over how to update his Facebook page, struggling to join in with the chorus of jingoistic celebration.
Kyle's military career ended when he was blown up by an IED, losing both legs and most of his genitalia. He's returned to New York but the only family he has left is his fraternal twin Jack (Joe Bolland,) and they've barely spoken for a decade: Both are gay, and when they were 15 Kyle outed his brother to their ex-soldier father to deflect attention from himself. Jack's resulting injuries included a broken leg, and he's never forgiven him.
As the two brothers try to rebuild a relationship, we also flash back to Afghanistan before the explosion, and Kyle's slowly-building relationship with fellow squaddie Chuck (Prince Kundai,) as they don't-ask-don't-tell their way through admitting they have the same feelings for each other. The two have some very tender scenes together in the flashbacks, and some tense but moving ones as they try to navigate whether they have a future as a couple back in America, and after Kyle's injury. Drawing the short straw somewhat is Tobie Donovan as Harry, a former schoolmate of the twins who always had a crush on Kyle and still shows an interest. He has some funny scenes but his character is less fully drawn than the other three.
Mardy and Bolland of course starred together in my 2022 Show of the Year, Our Generation, and their scenes together here are some of the best. The two gay siblings responded to growing up with an abusive father in very different ways, one channeling his aggression into the army and the other embracing a more nurturing side and becoming an oncology nurse. Rosendorf doesn't hold back from the idea that both of them treated the other appallingly at times as part of their survival techniques. What eventually unites them is that neither wants Kyle to follow in their father's footsteps and become as permanently mentally damaged as he is physically.
Scott Hurran's production is simple, perhaps a bit too understated at times: At the risk of lurching entirely into self-parody by complaining that Bolland keeps some of his clothes on, there's one scene that seems to have been written very specifically to literally strip down the brothers, and it falls a bit flat having them just take their shirts off. Sorcha Corcoran's design is functional, whereas Lucía Sánchez Roldán's lighting hangs strip lights above the stage, including one hanging right to the ground down centre stage: It's used effectively sometimes but for the most part is a weirdly distracting obstruction to the action. But the performances elevate Paper Cut over any odd creative choices, and among many other things this is another play that examines interesting things about identity: Specifically what happens if, just as you're accepting how your sexuality affects your identity, your ability to express that sexuality is taken away.
Paper Cut by Andrew Rosendorf is booking until the 1st of July at Park Theatre 90.
Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes straight through.
Photo credit: Stefan Hanegraaf.
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