Inter Alia play review and star rating: ★★★★
When Inter Alia sold out its run, garnering a swathe of positive reviews at the National Theatre last summer, the idea of the ‘Manosphere’ felt fairly fringey. Adolescence had just come out, which proved to be a thorough and fascinating examination of misogyny and its tendrils within internet culture, poking at the reasons why men might commit violent crimes, in particular towards women. Since then, in examinations of it, the glossy veneer of fict ion has been lopped off in favour of the blunter tool of documentary: Louis Theroux: Inside the Manosphere documented to millions on Netfilx how online pile-ons can lead to horrific violence in public as well as behind closed doors: the documentarian experienced the live streaming of people being beaten on streets for the viewing pleasure of thousands watching on a live stream. In a timely fashion, Suzie Miller’s Inter Alia (she also wrote 2022’s other biting legal drama Prima Facie) arrives in the West End, a compelling and timely response to the negative ways the internet is shaping – and breaking – men.
Like Adolescence, Miller’s play’s strength is in its nuanced examination of both sides of the story: of the victims and the perpetrators. It probes deeply into why men like 18-year-old Harry at the heart of Inter Alia might grow up to behave in the ways they do. There is an especially powerful line from middle aged dad Michael, played by Jamie Glover, about how in the age of MeToo, so many 40 or 50-something men fear their past behaviour catching up with them. But the main focus is the poisonous potential influence of online chat rooms and forums to corrupt young minds, as mother Jessica Parks, a lawyer and mother to 18-year-old Harry, attempts to survive the fallout of a criminal accusation when her courtroom work ends up uncomfortably close to home.
Inter Alia: play examines the moral challenges of being a mum and a judge
Rosamund Pike, recently of Saltburn, is arresting as permanently on-the-edge Jessica, who is perpetually one twist or turn away from a nervous breakdown, but somehow she grips on. She is literally never not talking, singing or running around the stage in her valiant effort to be the best mother, employee and woman she can. Miller’s script follows Jessica delivering her thoughts out loud, which also narrates the play. We see her in court as a Crown Court judge, working with young people pursuing sexual abuse cases, and during her home life in a middle class, lofty house in the suburbs where her son acts like the stereotypical teenager, only interacting when he wants something and being coy about his activities. The message – loud and clear – is that there is an impossible balance to achieve in being both a mum and being a judge, materially and moralistically.
While some of the dialogue feels too on-the-nose in its descriptions of minute-to-minute activities and developments, most of it is bitingly progressive in terms of its representation: one scene shows Jessica and her husband Michael having sex but all Jessica does is shout out her internal monologue of intrusive thoughts, PTSD flashes from the courtroom. That carnal embrace in particular is a good example of how Inter Alia is stylishly premium as well as moralistically bang-on. Surely an Olivier-baiting piece for the National Theatre, that intimacy scene is devised through the use of a guitar to simulate intercourse, with Michael strumming notes to imply his own sexual actions, the instrument encased around Jessica. It’s sexy, provocative, and totally unnerving.
Moreover, Miriam Buether’s transportative set design captivates from the get-go. One minute we’re lost in a forest and the next at a karaoke bar with barely any substantial set changes required. A blackout curtain hides numerous stage reveals, giving the challenging themes a sumptuous bed for a moment’s reprieve. After all, Inter Alia is aimed at real lawyers and solicitors who are following the news and are perpetually terrified about its effect on their own families. That is another reason why Inter Alia hits so hard for the theatregoing elite, and why incredibly wealthy Rishi Sunak sat in the row behind me on press night: no matter how much money you have, you can’t buy your son away from the threat of the Manosphere.
The finale rushes two ideas, conflating them into one without allowing either the purity of space and time that it requires, but you get the point: it’s a blistering time to examine masculinity and Miller is leading the charge.
Inter Alia plays at the Wyndham’s Theatre until 20 June
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