Growing Pains

In the polite and salubrious surroundings of St Stephen’s Theatre, nestled unassumingly in one of Edinburgh’s most characteristically genteel neighbourhoods, a 15-year-old skinhead from Middlesbrough clambers on top of his drunk and recently unconscious "friend." Briefly addressing the theatre’s ageing, white-haired audience, he announces casually: “She was fuckin' unresponsive, but then it was her first time. And she was passed out. Her cunt wasn’t as tight as your own fist, you could still sort of whack it along the top and get some sensation…She was so out of it, I just messed about with her tits til I came. It was fuckin' mint.”       

This shocking yet tragically humorous scene marks one of the opening exchanges in Apples, John Retallack’s dazzling adaptation of Richard Milward’s 2005 novel. Currently playing to frustratingly modest crowds, Apples is one of the true hidden gems of this year’s Fringe – deserving of bigger, livelier and, crucially, younger audiences who will respond instinctively to its visceral and poetic portrayal of contemporary adolescence. Penned by Milward when he was just 19, Apples is set in the Middlesbrough estates where he grew up, telling the story of a group of hormonal Year Nines breathlessly negotiating the lawlessness of adolescence, where drugs, sex, vomit and masturbation anarchically collide through a string of pivotal moments. At the centre are awkward Adam and gorgeous Eve, each with their own family problems, and at opposite ends of the adolescent pecking order.     

This might not seem like a particularly original premise, but what elevates Apples above most tales of teenage excess is its unshakeable authenticity. Lovingly crafted from the vivid memories of Milward’s own misspent youth, it posseses an endearing sincerity. In fact when I catch up with him in his hometown, Milward, now 25, begins by confiding that the rape scene at the start of the play echoes a horrific episode from his own adolescence. Indeed, he says the lingering memory of this experience inspired the character of Gary—the pill snorting, fist-wielding bully—who in many ways is the pivotal figure in Apples. The negative themes Milward wished to explore—rape, violence, abandonment—all stemmed from the aggressive, pumped-up performance of masculinity embodied in Gary's character.

“I often describe Apples as an 'anti-macho fairy story' – in other words, all the dark, bleak aspects of the story are there to criticise the typical hotheaded, alpha-male you find all over the world. Like in school, everyone has aspirations to move themselves up the pecking order, but there are far better ways to do it than grappling girls into bed, or tormenting weaker males. But unfortunately some people have respect for lads who sleep with tons of lasses, and come across as 'hard'. In my school, all anyone was bothered about was who's the 'hardest in the year'. No one was arsed about who was the nicest.”

As well as his painfully accurate depiction of adolescent masculinity, many have also noted the unusual sensitivity with which Milward constructs his female characters – particularly Eve. “I’ve always kind of knocked around with girls, and at that age I suppose I spent a lot of time trying to figure them out,” he says. “But also I remember going out to clubs and that, it was horrible, seeing girls getting sleazed and groped by all these lads. It was heartbreaking and kinda helped me get into the character of a girl.”  

Incredibly, Apples isn’t Milward’s first novel. When he was just 16 he wrote In Dust (Out Fluid), a novella about “20-somethings living on the dole” that nearly got picked up by Edinburgh publishers Canongate. Although the vividness of Milward’s prose attracted a lot of attention (and subsequently led to a reviewing job at The Face and a successful column in Dazed and Confused), the book’s eventual rejection made him re-evaluate his approach to writing. “I was quite immature, and I guess the book was more style over substance – some parts just didn't ring true because I hadn’t experienced certain feelings and situations first-hand.”

Milward decided to turn his attention to his own life, in particular the anarchy of his teens, and the result was Apples. Published in 2007, the book was met with widespread acclaim and to date has been published in six different languages. “Finally I felt I had something solid to write about, something I'd actually been through, and I must have just hit a chord. At the time, I didn't realise being 15 would be so inspiring. I was probably just trying to grit my teeth and get through it. But in hindsight it was the perfect age to write about.”       

Indeed, one of the most striking things about Apples is the way it captures the dizzying intensity of adolescent emotions. This is most evident in the glorious love prose of Adam, whose body constantly surges with sensation but who possesses only the most innocent of imagery to express himself (intercourse with Eve is a “sunburst of petals”, her words of reassurance “angel’s trumpets”). “The thing is,” Milward admits with a chuckle, “that wasn’t even intentional – the language genuinely just seemed to pour out of the end of my pencil. I don't think I could write the book the same way again because the way the characters thought and spoke stemmed from my own immaturity at the time of writing. Back then there was definitely a naivete, maybe an honesty, that trickled into the writing naturally.”

Watching some of the darker scenes in Apples it’s hard not to draw parallels with other recent dramatic representations of working-class life, such as Channel 4’s Shameless and Andrea Arnold’s critically acclaimed Fish Tank. While some critics have suggested that such kitchen sink realism runs the risk of patronising or demonising the people it aims to represent, Milward firmly disagrees. “In Middlesborough, you see people describing the estates like they’re the Bronx or something” he says incredulously. “I’ve spent a lot of time there and they’re nothing of the sort. I don’t see them as bleak and I don’t see Apples as bleak. It’s more a celebration of these kids’ lives, and the humour of the place they’re from.”          

For all the obvious humour and clarity in Milward’s writing, the success of Apples the play is as much to do with the young cast from Company of Angels. Premiering in June at the Empire nightclub in Middlesbrough where much of the book was set, Milward admits he was “blown away” by Jon Retallack’s stage adaptation. “It could’ve ended up looking like a bad episode of Hollyoaks, especially as some of the characters are so easy to turn into caricatures,” he says. “But I think the actors have captured the spirit and depth of each character really well. They must have gone to school with people like this, and they channel them beautifully.”

Milward laughs when I tell him about the more mature, "serious theatregoers" the play seems to be attracting in Edinburgh. Although he notes diplomatically, “it’s a play for anyone who’s ever been young,” he admits the subject matter and style of the play present a good opportunity to attract a younger and more diverse audience to the theatre. “I think the main strength of the play is that there's no imposed morality. I imagine a lot of theatre for youngsters tries to force some notion of ethics. In Apples, the characters make up their own minds.”