The B*easts

Breasts or beasts? Monica Dolan’s clever title tees up a scapel-sharp examination of female bodies – specifically, young female bodies. Using a slippery case study around childhood sexualisation, it asks what’s natural and what’s monstrous.

Dolan, best known for BBC self-satire W1A, plays a psychiatrist recounting a recent case. A mother—call her Karen—bought her pre-pubescent daughter a boob job in Brazil. Her defence is that Lila knew exactly what she wanted. She was pointing at busty bikini models by three and, at seven, a padded training bra just didn’t cut it. So here she is: this primary schoolgirl with a DD cup – the envy of the playground; the scourge of the school run.

It’s a thorny issue, child sexualisation – taboo, but by no means cut and dry. By pushing it this far—stretching beyond lipstick and child-size high heels, beyond kiddie spa parties—Dolan slides down the slippery slope, then, bravely, tries to find some defence. She holds the subject to scrutiny, asking whether sexuality is innate in children, learned behaviour or something adults project. Gradually, The B*easts ups the ante; twists the moral thumbscrews. It presses past palatability without flinching.

But The B*easts only intermittently justifies its presence onstage. Dolan’s script is pretty much a straightforward report, and only three phone calls—first her daughter, then her husband—prove the pysch has skin in the game. Literally so: two lumps make her own breasts a bone of contention. Otherwise, it’s more a play on morality than a morality play.