Written by Liam Moffat

Directed by Gareth Nicholls

Tickets from £12.00

For anyone who has spent any portion of their day wading through discarded chew toys, endless strands of hair, or endured walks in the chucking rain and cleared up enough cat vomit than you thought a creature that size could produce – they’ll know that quite often, our four-footed companions stand through the bleakest of times in a manner few others find themselves capable.

Well under-way at their regular home at Oran Mor, Jemima Levick’s final tenure (and the 20th anniversary season) at the helm of Play, Pie, and a Pint found a steady beginning with debut-writer Liam Moffat’s Jack which now kicks off the six Edinburgh shows at the Traverse Theatre until March 2nd. 

A punchy number, Moffat’s debut script fits comfortably into the under-sixty-minute time-frame of PPP, enabling performer Lawrence Boothman (The Brief Life & Death of Boris III King of Bulgaria) enough to chew on to develop a fleshed-out role as a young gay man in a comfy relationship with his partner, now living in London. It all seems to be going to plan, and better yet, for Christmas, he is presented with a bouncing, excitable, and occasionally loud puppy they name Jack. There’s just one issue – he hates dogs.

As the wise words ‘A Dog Isn’t Just for Christmas’ project themselves across the top of Kenny Miller’s set dressing (complete with washed-out rainbow flooring), the comfy life the pair have led begins to crumble around them. Raised above us, platformed with only a solo chair, Boothman delivers Moffat’s laugh-out-loud script with authenticity and plenty of moments of raunchy humour and jest to glide us through the more painful elements.  

Flowing, Moffat’s script confidently brings us through the various stages of grief: striking with the initial denial of events, through the agony of depression and bargaining, before a more grounded sense of a (not always) happy acceptance finds a way to draw Jack all together in a touching and open if unchallenging, story of loss, hope, and dog hair. But the brutality of these middle stages is fleshed out just enough to offer bite and depth, which Boothman catapults and infuses with such a richness of emotion that it’s near-impossible for audiences not to find a level of recognition within.

The Traverse’s Artistic Direction Gareth Nicholl’s pacing is the benchmark of a Play, Pie, and Pint piece through and through – pitched at the fifty-minute mark. There are no additional elements which are necessary to enhance the story, rounded into a short piece of likable theatre that presents itself as a neatly formed production. Boothman’s monologue is the crux here – and while Jack neatly strives forward with the character trajectory, there’s an undeniable strength in Boothman’s performance which smooths out the pacing, squeezing in a dense script without sacrificing the integrity of the language and pulling us along when occasional jokes and repeated references don’t entirely stick the landing.

Moffat’s script is best in singular lines that deliver strong punches. Moments of homophobia downplayed, no longer the central theme of the narrative, or revelations about the main characters’ faithfulness and mistakes are all threaded in without melodrama – played perfectly with Boothman’s delivery, which ramps up where required and withdraws when necessary. An ideal start to a promising season, Jack charters the endless abyss of grief and isolation with confidence and sincerity which shows tremendous promise for Moffat’s future writing and Boothman’s leading performance.

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