BLINK

King’s Head Theatre

★★★

“an intriguing, confronting piece made for our times”

What does it mean to be seen? In an age of polished online personas, we’re more visible – and invisible – than ever. In its first major London revival since 2012, Simon Paris delivers a sharply human take on online stalking in Phil Porter’s ‘Blink’ – though it could do with a little more bite.

Sophie’s dad dies, leaving her lost and alone; hundreds of miles away, Jonah loses his mother. Several strange coincidences later, they’re living in the same building. Sophie spots Jonah nursing a sick fox and sends him an anonymous gift – a baby monitor livestreaming her living room. Whether what follows is love, co-dependency or stalking, you decide – but you won’t be able to look away.

Porter’s unflinching play premiered in 2012 – before social media was the beast it is now – yet it nails the murky ethics of parasocial attachment, boundary erosion and consent. The script is richly layered, cleverly weaving contrasting takes on the same events, and balancing full circle moments with enough ambiguity to keep you guessing. It’s both creepy and endearing, conjuring sinister imagery as you root for not one but two antiheroes. It’s also very funny, with a bracingly unfiltered edge. Though the masterstroke is our complicity – as their gaze becomes ours, how much responsibility do we shoulder?

Paris’ direction deftly humanises an increasingly familiar – though no less troubling – dynamic. Tiny shifts in body language betray the characters’ true feelings. The breezy detachment around death and depression heightens the core tension between perception and reality. The parasocial bond builds and unravels in several ways – most strikingly the furniture solidifies as the connection deepens. That said, the pacing could be tighter in places – the opening and closing hesitancy works well, but elsewhere the cast pulls back when they need momentum. That breezy detachment, while thematically apt, sometimes leaves moments feeling a touch out of reach. Paris keeps the baby monitor, though would a smartphone ring more true? Still, it’s a commanding take on a demanding script.

Casting social media star Abigail Thorn as Sophie is a stroke of genius, throwing the issues straight into the spotlight. Thorn nails the tortured but inarticulate soul, keeping her true feelings under wraps until they can’t help but break through. That said, some moments feel a touch too restrained, and the pacing could be sharper in places. Joe Pitts’ Jonah is disarmingly creepy. Pitts fully commits to the off beat wildcard, burning with unhinged devotion for Sophie balanced against quieter sincerity. Pitts’ comedic timing is also razor sharp.

Emily Bestow’s design is stunning. The translucent furniture gaining and losing solidity is a clever visual metaphor. The black mirror floor creates the illusion of watching on a smartphone. Matt Powell’s video design sharpens the illicit feel with degraded video textures. Sophie’s fragmented body – zooming in on her eyes, hands, lips – is strikingly voyeuristic. Pre recorded inserts smartly reveal the other character’s perspective, even if the timing occasionally slips. Peter Small’s lighting draws the audience in from the start, with soft house lights keeping us in Jonah’s orbit before shifting to more theatrical settings, creating striking shifts between intimacy and distance. Sam Glossop’s soundscape layers music and subtle tones, with abrupt jolts snapping you back to reality. Costumes are pared back but Sophie’s deliberate return to the off shoulder look suggests her ‘casual’ vibe is anything but accidental.

Paris’ take on ‘Blink’ has flashes of real brilliance, even if it could use a little more punch. Still, it’s an intriguing, confronting piece made for our times that’s well worth catching.

BLINK

King’s Head Theatre

Reviewed on 23rd February 2026

by Hannah Bothelton

Photography by Charlie Flint

BLINK

THE WIND AND THE RAIN at the Finborough Theatre

★★★

“while Hodge’s plot is a little thin, his dialogue is plenty fun, giving rise to some excellent performances.”

I love a quiet story, where nothing much appears to happen, while tension and longing roil beneath the surface. The Wind and the Rain is so almost that, but unfortunately tensions are a little too tepid and nothing ever really comes to bear.

A group of 1930s medical students move into their lodgings for the new academic year. Tritton (Joe Pitts), a newcomer and awfully serious about his studies, finds himself falling for young Kiwi sculptor, Anne (Naomi Preston-Low), despite being as good as betrothed back in London.

And that’s pretty much the whole story. There’s no slow development between the love birds, barring their first meeting, so the meat of the plot happens right at the beginning. We do eventually meet Tritton’s betrothed, Jill, but despite this being a highlight, she’s such an obviously poor match, and Tritton disapproves of her behaviour so entirely, that it’s completely implausible they’ll end up together.

Director Geoffrey Beevers seems desperate to find some juicy subtext, and some of the lines are delivered so bizarrely in the opening act, I wonder if this isn’t going to become a thriller. The looks between the two long-term tenants when their new lodger arrives suggests something very foreboding indeed, and John Williams (Harvey Cole) who is generally the relief, mutters with fear, “I’m sweating”. On discussing her sympathy for newcomers learning the ropes, Mrs McFie, the po-faced landlady, ominously remarks, “There’s an awful lot you’d be better off not knowing.”

The theatre’s website mentions that this story is likely inspired by writer Merton Hodge’s own experiences “as a bisexual man in the 1930s”, which might explain Beever’s attempted angle, but there doesn’t appear to be any hint of Hodge’s bisexuality in the text itself, so instead we have these strange moments of forced tension that don’t make any sense with the actual dialogue.

That being said, while Hodge’s plot is a little thin, his dialogue is plenty fun, giving rise to some excellent performances.

Jenny Lee’s Mrs McFie is wonderfully odd, desperate to be in company, but deaf to social cues, and I feel rather sorry for her when her tenants so often interrupt her ramblings and send her off to fetch coal or dinner.

As I mentioned, the appearance of Jill, played by Helen Reuben, is a treat, bringing a taste of London glitz to the drab student lodgings. She’s presumably supposed to seem frivolous beside Tritton’s new love, earnest Anne, but Reuben makes her the fizz in the champagne, and everyone else appears dull and repressed in her presence.

Her escort, Roger, played by Lynton Appleton, is another highlight, playing a perfectly pretentious idiot and offering some much-needed silliness. Appleton later appears as a very green, awkward new student in the final scene, and while the plot’s pace has, by this point, nearly entirely dropped off, Appleton is quietly acting his socks off in the corner, despite having very few lines.

Carla Evans has designed a straight-forward, but wonderfully detailed set, complete with a buck’s head above a tiled fireplace, a kitchen crockery display cabinet and a beautiful old record player. The passing of time is denoted by the ritualistic changing of tablecloths, which seems a bit unnecessary and adds long minutes to an already long play.

There is definitely something to this story, but Beever hasn’t quite hit the nail on the head in the execution. Or perhaps, given it was written in the ‘30s, The Wind and the Rain might be more suited to a loose adaptation than a true-to-script production.

Tag Archives: Joe Pitts

BLINK

★★★

King’s Head Theatre

BLINK

King’s Head Theatre

★★★

“an intriguing, confronting piece made for our times”