As human beings, we have always been fascinated with watching our fellow man as they go about their lives. What can be even more fun for the watcher is if the person they are observing doesn’t realise they are being watched. Elevating the fun comes when the observed are watching the watcher, who doesn’t know the tables have been turned. But then. What happens when watching, moves on to meeting? Where do they go then? A question that I believe is at the heart of Phil Porter’s one-act play Blink at the Kings Head Theatre.
Sophie (Abigail Thorn) and Jonah (Joe Pitts) are very different people whose lives seem filled with coincidences. They have both recently lost a relative, and as a consequence, come into a nice amount of money. They are also both young, single and definitely not ready to mingle. And, thanks to a conversation in a railway station, they live in the same building. Sophie, who owns the building, is in the upstairs flat, and Jonah, who, thanks to managing agents, has never met his landlady, is in the ground-floor flat. Then one day, Jonah receives a package, a baby monitor with a video screen. What he doesn’t know as he switches it on is that it has been sent by Sophie, who has observed him in their shared garden and who has retained the other half of the monitor. He switches it on and sees a lady standing there, and he starts to watch. Over time, he watches the lady more and more, and without ever speaking, they start to interact, and slowly something like love grows in both their hearts.
Blink describes itself as a parasocial love story, and that is an interesting, if not entirely accurate description, and one that plays with the audience’s interpretation of what they are seeing. Jonah and Sophie form some sort of relationship via the screens, but for Jonah, it is a one-way thing, which could make him seem a bit stalkerish. But we know Sophie is not only aware of everything but is actually in control, especially as they move away from the screen into the real world. This really is a fascinating story that messes with perception. Is Jonah creepy, or is Sophie, or are they both actually quite sweet and innocent? Both of their back stories that they give the audience suggest the latter, or do they? Rather like a maze made of mirrors, nothing is quite what it seems, including the audience. After all, if one or both of them are potentially not nice people, then are we as voyeurs watching them, complicit in their negative actions? Or are we happy supporters of two young people in love and for whom we wish the happiest of endings? Whatever we are, it’s not innocent bystanders. Both Sophie and Josh interact with members of the audience during the first part as they deliver their individual but interconnecting monologues, giving us their personal story and how they get to the point of watching each other. They are both fascinating characters and are brought out onto the stage and into the world beautifully by Abigail Thorn and Joe Pitts. Both individually and when interacting with each other, Thorn and Pitts totally own their character. Sophie is a modern girl in many ways, but one who does not believe in herself. There’s a point where she talks about feeling invisible that really struck a chord with me, not only for the words but also for the way she delivered them, making me momentarily relive all those times I’ve stood at a bar not being seen by the people serving until someone says, I think this guy is next. Wonderful. Pitts matches her as Jonah aa shy, naïve, wonderfully awkward guy who, if he had friends, would be considered weird but not in a bad way. As mentioned above, it would be easy to watch him and judge the inappropriateness of his actions, but somehow, we don’t. In fact, we end up forgiving him and wanting him to succeed.
Director Simon Paris uses Emily Bestow’s set design nicely. It’s simple but versatile, and the hanging video screens with video design from Matt Powell really add, not only backgrounds but what looks like the live feeds Sophie and Jonah can see on their baby monitors, once more bringing the audience firmly into the action.
Blink is an unconventional love story of two people slightly out of synch with the world coming together via the medium of, for want of a better word, stalking. At one point, Jonah reminds us that “Love is neither dirty nor clean,” and this is certainly true in Blink. I must admit there were a couple of moments of illogicality that jarred for me. A big one for me was how Jonah managed to get a flat in London for such a reasonable rent and so fast through a managing agent, who normally carry out credit checks, want to see proof of income, etc.? Not to mention how quickly Jonah accepted the monitor and woman on his screen as being a normal thing, though that may have been part of his naivety.
As I came out of the theatre, I ran into a couple of friends who had also seen the play, and my immediate answer was that I liked it, but wasn’t really sure why. And that’s because Blink really is a bit of an enigma. It takes you on a journey that looks like it is going one way, then veers off on a completely different but related track. Excellent writing and production of a play which, at its heart, is about love, or is it?
Review by Terry Eastham
This is a story about seeing and being seen. About watching and being watched. And about love.
Sophie has just lost a parent. So has Jonah. Sophie has just inherited quite a lot of money. So has Jonah. After a series of uncanny coincidences, the pair find themselves living on top of one another, in two small flats in Leytonstone. Then on a whim, Sophie mails Jonah a baby monitor connected to her flat. And her starts to watch her. Reading. Playing video games. Eating. Watching TV. Without ever coming face to face, something almost like love starts to bloom between them.
CAST
Sophie – Abigal Thorn
Jonah – Joe Pitts
CREATIVES
Writer – Phil Porter
Director – Simon Paris
Designer – Emily Bestow
Lighting Designer – Peter Small
Sound Designer – Sam Glossop
Video Designer – Matt Powell
Intimacy Director – Foxy
BLINK
King’s Head Theatre
19 February to 22 March 2026
