When I read the marketing copy for Puppy, which starts, “Two young women meet late one night in a car park and immediately fall in love… while dogging” I honestly didn’t know what to expect. Naomi Westerman, the writer, is a good friend of a good friend, and as I always endeavour to support queer theatre, I figured I’d go and see it, hoping it would be good enough to congratulate them afterwards and actually mean it.

I’d never been to The King’s Head Theatre in Islington before. I was picturing a small pub theatre in a back room, but it turns out it’s a purpose-built space four floors down – decent size, thrust stage, audience on three sides, floor-level playing space. I was on the front row. Literally, on the stage. The opening set (design by Roisin Jenner) is two car seats on wheels, a bunch of huge squishy beanbag-style cushions, and some soft pink neon lighting. Car seats aside, it’s giving “house party in your twenties.” I half expected someone to spark up a joint and put on some reggae.

Instead, the cast come out and start going at it.

We meet Dave and Sandra (Ed Larkin and Maria Austin) – the young, working-class couple – and Susan and Richard (Tia Dunn and Ian Hallard), who are older, posher, and even more up for it. The actors are clothed throughout – no actual nudity – but we’re watching a full simulated sex scene unfold, complete with casual, friendly chit chat. It’s ridiculous. And very, very funny.

Then Jaz arrives, played by Ashling O’Shea, and for a moment I thought she’d wandered into the dogging area by mistake. She’s nervous and unsure (O’Shea plays this beautifully) – she says she’s there to meet Maya. Maya turns up, played by Amy Revelle, she’s confident, curious, in charge. The two of them have instant chemistry – despite the fact that Jaz has been mildly stalking Maya – and next thing we know, we’re watching them fall in love. The sex fades into the background and we’re suddenly in this tender new relationship.

The contrast works beautifully. The hilarity of the doggers makes the moments of emotional truth between Jaz and Maya land harder. The show builds in these brilliant intercut scenes – dogging society meeting one-minute, heart-rending honesty the next.

As they get to know each other, Maya tells Jaz that she works in porn; here Revelle plays a level of vulnerability we don’t often see from Maya, as she’s clearly not sure how Jaz will take it. Jaz is not bothered, as long as Maya is happy and safe. The two of them start a feminist porn company together, and everything seems to be flying – until Maya’s success goes to her head, the 2014 porn ban kicks in, targeting queer and feminist porn disproportionately, and things start to crack.

One of the most striking sequences in the play is a slick and deeply uncomfortable moment where Maya paces the stage under shifting spotlights (bravo to Catja Hamilton for lighting design), reliving her early porn auditions as she’s pushed further and further into degrading acts. It’s sharp, fast, and brutal – a punchy collision of direction, lighting, and performance that really drives home the struggle that women in porn often have to face.

It’s a clever, layered, gutsy script. In 80 minutes, Westerman manages to explore queerness, kink, trauma, joy, sexual freedom, abuse, paedophilia, censorship, and community – and it never feels like ticking boxes. It’s raw and human and sharply political, but it’s also warm, witty, and often flat-out hilarious. Kayla Feldman’s direction, along with Christina Fulcher’s intimacy direction, keeps everything tight and intimate, especially between Revelle and O’Shea, who are just such honest and natural performers. I found myself properly rooting for them – and unexpectedly tearful by the end.

The dogging gang are comic gold throughout, but they also have depth. There’s a whole found-family vibe going on – they’re weird, supportive, ridiculous, and oddly wholesome. One of the funniest moments in the show is Dave reading out a list of titles from his prolific career writing online erotica under the pen name Agatha Titsie. It’s one of those comic moments that seems to go on a bit longer than it should – which makes it all the funnier. I was almost in tears from laughing so hard.

Puppy is brave, messy, funny, romantic, and entirely itself. It manages to handle important issues, political and personal, whilst telling a compelling story that is as funny as it is heartfelt. You think you’re getting comedy with dogging jokes, and you do – but you also get real heart, real stakes, and moments that hit you right in the feels. I left genuinely moved and uplifted.

If there’s any justice, Jaz, Maya, Dave, Sandra, Susan, and Richard will be dogging in a big West End car park before long. Get yourself and your found family over to The Kings Head Theatre before the run ends on 27th April. Lube optional but encouraged (jk).

Tickets available from kingsheadtheatre.com until 27th April
(including 10 for £10 at every performance!)

Words by Nick Barr

Photos by Steve Gregson