An Apple a Day

A risk assessor theologian goes to visit a transsexual prostitute with a special request: he wants her to eat a Cox’s Orange Pippin apple and burp in his face. Though it sounds like the beginning of a bizarre joke, this latest play by Jo Clifford has a lot more to offer than facile humour.

Set in a feminine boudoir, complete with draped scarves and skimpy underwear, the play opens on the scantily dressed transsexual (David Walshe) fussing and strutting theatrically across the stage, spraying herself with her perfume atomizer. Walshe plays this role with incredible delicacy, oscillating between acting overtly sexually and revealing the character's true insecurities, even veering towards self-loathing. There's a real sense of the monotony of her occupation, her inner torment, as she says: ‘Sex is the most tedious occupation in the world’.

The two characters embody two sides of the same coin, the sex industry and the business world, brought together in this economy of exchange. Yet rather than a clinical interface, there are some genuinely touching moments between them, as the client (Crawford Logan) reveals the origin of his persuasion with painfully raw emotion.

Clifford delves deeply into issues of gender and sexuality, sensitively addressing the ostracised figure of the transsexual in society. When combined with contents of the mysterious suitcase, the play enters more speculative, portentous ground, questioning preconceived notions of what is considered erotic or perverted in sexual desire.

Apart from the obvious humour generated by the awkwardness of viewing a fully-grown man wearing tiny lederhosen, and a transsexual in unflattering dungarees, the dialogue is incredibly well crafted. The differences between the two characters is exploited using clever, contrapuntal conversation; the client requesting that she should act normal, but as she acidly remarks: ‘I’m not sure I do normal.’

The image of the apple in all of this is clearly important, recalling the Edenic tree of knowledge, but rather than condemnation for sexual experience, the ending is meditative with a hope of redemption, regardless of sexuality. Although the play revolves around a single scene, the simple form aids a frank exploration of the possibilities of erotic fantasy.