I haven’t seen this much royal f*ggotry on the stage since I saw “The Lion King” — and I doubt I’ll see something quite like this again. How shall I describe this play that has sensationalized New York’s theatre district? It’s filthy, debaucherous, discomfiting, sexy and sombre, presenting a panoply of subjects ranging from chemsex to colonialism, sadomasochism and monarchy, pup-play and protocol, with a healthy dose of sodomy and soliloquies. Bright neon yellow and red lights consumed the space, loud techno music reverberated through my chest while the smell of cigarette smoke filled my nostrils. This is a production that heightens and shocks the senses which are further assailed by the arousal and sexuality oozing from the characters onstage. Welcome to the world of “Prince Faggot.”
Written by Jordan Tannahill and directed by Shayok Misha Chowdhury, the play’s point of departure is the infamous photo of an effete Prince George of Wales kvelling at the sight of a helicopter lifting off in front of him. When Canadian director Tannahill came across this photograph, he resonated with the prince’s fey pose. The photo depicted a moment of unconstrained effeminacy for the future heir of the United Kingdom, and such imagery reminded Tannahill of his similarly expressive gay childhood affect.
Of course, he wasn’t the only one to have felt this way. Controversy ensued within the British media regarding whether it was appropriate for people to speculate on the prince’s sexuality and dub him a “gay icon” — he was four years old when the photo was taken in 2017. Even though the play is set in 2032, when the fictional prince would be eighteen years old, at the time of the play’s staging, the real Prince of Wales is eleven years old. Tannahill dives into this controversy headfirst by opening the play with a self-aware debate among the actors/characters about speculating over the sexuality of children — whether royal or plebeian — and questioning whether there is a double standard. Like many of the deeper intellectual discussions the play seeks to confront, none of them end up quite resolved, as Jesse Green remarks in his NYT review of the play. “Prince Faggot” is a shining example of queer futurity in its imagining of an openly-gay monarch — symbolic of embodied godly power on Earth — who is counterbalanced by the characteristic messiness of young gay men. In explicitly gruesome detail, the Prince is reigned in by the F*ggot.
The story centers around the relationship between the fictionalized version of Prince George, who is endearingly referred to as “Tips,” and his boyfriend Dev, performed by John McCrea and Mihir Kumar, respectively. When Dev is being introduced to Tips’s parents — William (K. Todd Freeman) and Kate (Rachel Crow) — Kate reveals a first-edition copy of Virginia Woolf’s novel “The Waves,” which she admits to having never read, only vaguely recalling “Mrs. Dalloway.”
What defines the brilliance of “Prince Faggot” is how its narrative is interspersed with personal anecdotes that vaguely echo moments within Woolf’s novel, generating a collective consciousness among her and the play’s characters. N’yomi Allure Stewart (Princess Charlotte) and Freeman share images from their own childhoods and comment on the actors’ experiences with their nascent sexualities and gender identities. They also provide a striking and sentimental critique of the monarchical institutions they embody within their roles, effectively highlighting the racism and dehumanization inherent in the characters and the society within which they are performing. This collapsing of distance between on stage performance into the actors themselves was carried out with great effect and delicacy. This crescendoes by the end of the play with Stewart announcing her claim to royalty … that goes hitherto unnoticed.
What strikes me most about Tips and Dev’s relationship is the manner in which they both seek to elide the responsibilities placed upon them by their race, class, and social standing through their queerness. The tragedy that befalls their romance isn’t a result of violence and torture (which is later reclaimed by the bondage scenes). Rather, it is the struggle represented by socially accepted forms of gayness that mirror and emulate a heterosexual culture, as opposed to allowing the f*ggotry that lies deep within to be let free. The tragedy is that one feels it must be suppressed — whether by the machinations of a controlling family unit, hierarchical heteronormativity, or lies that feed insecurities and nurture doubt and disgust.
“Prince Faggot” reminds me of Christopher Marlowe’s sixteenth play, “Edward II,” another explicit portrayal of the royal crown being suffused with f*ggotry, resulting in catastrophe for King Edward II and his lover Piers Gaveston. Even Derek Jarman’s 1991 film adaptation of Marlowe’s play further elucidated the consequences of homophobia at its most gruesome, whereas Tannahill explores a deeply banal form of homophobia that characterizes our contemporary society — especially in one scene that refuses to leave my memory. When Tips embarks upon a particularly hallucinogenic acid trip, he is confronted by various ghosts of queer monarchs with Edward II (David Greenspan) figuring among them. Watching the Prince collapse before these phantoms cut me to the core because it depicted such a vulnerable, intimate, and terrifying moment of recognition that collapsed the queer past and future in upon itself, leaving me feeling hollow by the end.
Perhaps the play intends to imagine what the F*ggot (with a capital F) can do to claim power over those who seek to ridicule and shame their existence. There is something pure, dangerous, and hopeful about embodying f*ggotry. The play explores how it manifests across the boundaries of age, race, gender, and class via queerness. The choice to name this production after a slur may serve various purposes. It’s a challenge to overcome and an invitation to shock and upset, surely. However, it presents an opportunity to reflect on the pain it inflicts and seek reconciliation over which one feels shame, guilt, and pain by turning it into something regenerative and healing. This play dares those who are willing or brave enough to shirk the ridicule of society and struggle through heartache that shapes the queer experience, and discover whether one can bear the ghosts of a queer past that one ought to confront within themselves.
