Creeping down frozen back-alleys. Flitting beneath the sickly-glow of street lamps. Clutching scribbled directions on a dog-eared scrap of paper. Searching nervously for allotment 265…Whore instils audiences with a heady mix of excitement and anxiety before even a ticket is ripped or a line uttered. Performed at Bethnal Green’s aptly named Resistance Gallery, Barefaced Theatre’s play deals with the trials and tribulations of  ‘working girls’ across the social and historical spectrum. Whore carries the atmosphere of a secret after-dark encounter in which the audience are tacitly complicit. It is this combination of voyeuristic pleasure and reticence that the four-strong female ensemble exploit for dramatic impact.

Whore’s interweaving of the characters narrative voices, each representing a conflicting attitude and historical period of the ‘sex trade’, informs the play’s overall design. Although initially disparate and unconnected, these individual stories give rise to an overarching observation of the power-relationships, sexual-politics and complex attitudes that makes up the lives of these women. With the exception of 1930’s New Yorker, Polly Adler (Stephanie Ellyn), whose meteoric rise from a “good Jewish girl” to governess of a “respectable” whorehouse contextualises her experience as one of social mobility, we learn only skant details about the characters social milieu and historical environment. Whore is concerned with the emotional and psychological lives of it’s ‘ladies of the night’, and therefore rarely ply’s the narrative for any sociological understanding of the conditioning factors on ‘sex workers’ throughout history.

Marie Dupplessis (Berri George), French courtesan to Paris’ wealthy male patrons, glides amidst the throng of spectators with a buoyant candour and childlike excitement. As she seduces the room with a projected air of self-conscious sexuality, one is reminded of Frank Wedekind’s Lulu in her status of empowered subject and victimised object. Meanwhile, Theresa Berkeley (Peri Olufunwa), English dominatrix and inventor of the ‘Berkeley Horse’, displays a forensic expertise in the tools of her trade. The audience are educated in the “scientific” workings of her whips, canes, racks and other engineered implements of pain and pleasure. However, particular praise must go to Katie Warren’s portrayal of Valerie Polanos, radical feminist polemicist and would-be assassin of Andy Warhol in 1968. Warren imbues Polanos with a toxic sense of moral indignation that manifests itself in the rage and vitriol she aims at “Men”. Neither are those males in the audience spared Polanos’ wrath, as she recites whole passages from her infamous SCUM Manifesto, verbatim. While such antagonistic ire might have alienated the spectators, Warren’s delicate balance of humour and vulnerability result in a rich, layered and deeply sympathetic character.

The mobility of the actresses throughout the space, in which the audience stand and are themselves free to roam, lends the performance an interactive dimension. As a result, the risk of physical transgression hangs constantly in the air, palpable most especially in those moments when Marie Dupplesis gently takes the hands of the male audience and leads them up the stairs for a ‘private’ performance. Whore avoids exploiting this aspect for mere titillation and avoids relegating it to an ephemeral shock tactic. The ‘illicit encounters’ mischievously overturn the perceived boundaries between audience and performance. Instead of comfortably passive spectators, we are forced to reflect on our role as participants in the overall scheme of the performance. Whore acknowledges this elsewhere, namely in the simulated rape of Valerie Polanos just over halfway through the play. While shocking and uncomfortable to watch, this moment is expertly choreographed and executed: Warren simulates Polanos rape at the hands of her father, while Adler delivers one of her typically jovial monologues on the material advantages afforded to her through selling sex. It is an example when the overlapping discourses force the audience into an evaluation of their own attitude and perspective.

Whore’s overall set-design makes economical use of the space in clever ways. Each of the four characters exists within clearly demarcated areas representative of their own realities. Theresea Berkeley is framed by the various paraphernalia of her trade, namely, the ‘Berkeley Horse’, while Valerie Polanos’ increasingly hermetic world is revealed through her solitary desk and typewriter, and the montage of newspaper clippings and furious writings attached to the walls. However, it is the expressive use of costume (Emila Pope) that truly defines these characters; the conflicting patterns of period costume distils down the essential differences between the characters, but manages to remain restrained and convincing in spite of Whores heightened atmosphere.

Whore never attempts to offer easy or convenient solutions to the dilemmas it engages. Whore sets conflicting discourses in conversation: resistance against patriarchal sexual exploitation, and the voices of those women who profited and volunteered sex as currency. For many, it may feel inconclusive, but Whore offers a series of intense dramatic monologues that seek to question and challenge our perceived wisdom, as well as our as ‘spectators’.

BareFaced Theatre are performing Whore until 13th Nov. More details here.