It's posh, mate
One thing struck me after seeing Laura Wade's Posh at the Royal Court on Saturday (and you must see it, not least for the genius moment when our upper class break out into an a capella version Wiley's 'Wearing My Rolex'). For all the talk within the play about the blue bloods reclaiming what's theirs, in terms of power and status, they are trapped in a cultural milieu not of their making, and one that they'd be highly unlikely to break out of.
The evidence for this? The way all the members of the club are 'mate' to each other. Sometimes it felt like you could not move for exchanges that are 'mate this' and 'mate that' and 'mate the other'. My point is that this is not the language that of male bonding that the ruling classes used to speak; nor is it an ironic tribute to those other 19-21 year olds in the wider world, also getting up to no good. It is the way young men *everywhere* speak, and to that extent, it shows the ultimate futility of attempting to turn the clock back. Even in their own exchanges, they are using the language of their inferiors, and so therefore have lost the battle of influence.
Isn't it, mate?
Labels: theatre posh royal court