ajhlovestheatre

THE VIRGINS

by Miriam Battye

directed by Jaz Woodcock-Stewart

Soho Theatre, London – until 7 March 2026

running time: 85 minutes no interval 

https://sohotheatre.com/events/the-virgins/

“It is a massive thing. I can literally feel it… It’s so heavy I feel like I’m wiping the floor with it… I’m surprised I can even walk with it.” That’s hyper-anxious sixteen year old Phoebe talking about her own virginity in Miriam Battye’s outrageously entertaining but thoughtful new play. The Virgins centres on a group of teenage girls preparing for a night out where the aim of “pick one boy each to pull…then come home and eat chicken dippers” takes a more extreme turn when an older, more sexually experienced young woman turns up, all knowing sass and attitude, and the race is on for full scale loss of virginity.

At first it feels like a modern day answer to Willy Russell’s Stags And Hens, the girls primping and preening in the bathroom while just across the hall a pair of boys play computer games and engage in half-hearted banter. The detailed, mostly realistic set and entirely plausible costumes are by Rosie Elnile.

Battye’s writing for these kids is eye-wateringly accurate and deliciously funny. The dialogue bounces off the stage with a rare vitality and relatability, and the playwright’s affection for these stroppy, clueless, lovable youngsters is palpable. Jaz Woodock-Stewart’s sparky, supremely well cast production, punctuated by blasts of bombastic classical music in witty counterpoint to the lower brow concerns of the characters, matches the potty-mouthed dynamism of the text.

Every member of the youthful acting company is outstanding, mining the script for every scrap of humour but never playing it for the laughs which, goodness knows, are coming thick and fast anyway. Anushka Chakravarti and Ragevan Vasan fully convince as siblings whose mutual loathing is probably only on the surface, and Ella Bruccoleri finds so many layers and colours to quirky, independent-minded Jess. Zoë Armer suggests with real pathos the trauma and hurt hiding just under the surface of apparently confident, slightly older Anya, and Alec Boaden raises diffident coolness to an art form as a bemused lad also with hidden depths. Molly Hewitt-Richards is a neurotic delight as uncertain Phoebe (“I’ve done a test run and I know if I have three single vodka lemonades on no dinner I’ll be fun and not vulnerable”).

Aside from the copious belly laughs, The Virgins has a genuine gravitas as it touches on peer pressure, sexual violence, the objectification of young women and the bewilderment of young men. It’s a compelling mix but the lurches into serious territory, though essential to the play as a whole, could be refined somewhat. A mutual masturbation scene should be awkward, as should the closing moments where two youngsters start to have sex but are impelled to use the physical and indeed aural language learnt from exposure to porn. But a reflective speech for Boaden’s Mel where he talks, almost accusingly, about his disillusionment with the opposite sex, although terrifically well played, feels shoe-horned in and a tad ponderous. 

The Virgins is still a tremendously accomplished piece of writing though, a rollicking good time with very sharp fangs and moments of authentic pathos. It should be required viewing for mid- to late-teenagers, but probably not with their parents. The embarrassment, y’know…. Enthusiastically recommended.