Black Faggot: Filthy, funny, and full of heart

• Location: Rangatira, Q Theatre. Running time: 60 minutes, no interval.
  Audience warning: Use of slurs, adult language, and content.
  Lockout policy: Lockout for the first two minutes.

Written by Victor Rodger and directed by Anapela Polata’ivao, this raw two-hander pulls no punches. It is a riot of Pacific humour, filthy confessions and moments of queer truth that remind us that you can’t pray the gay away. The hour unfolds of chaotic, confrontational theatre that is both heart-warming and hilarious.

If you have the chance, book your ticket and arrive on time. I have been locked out before, and I was not going to risk that again. This time, it was me, my best friend, and an open mind, ready to watch two brown men hold up a mirror to a society that still tries to pray the gay away.

Black Faggot does not hold back. Born out of Destiny Church’s infamous “Enough is Enough” march and the Marriage Equality protests, this play is hilarious, filthy, raw and full of love. It is a bold hour spent watching two gay Pasifika men navigate an unforgiving world and emerge on the other side, labels be damned.

As soon as the lights dropped and 50 Cent’s Candy Shop played, I was hooked from the very first beat. Jake Tupu’s smooth moves, the subtle Samoan nuances, and the way he switched between different characters had me eager to meet each one. Whether it was a staunch father grilling his son about his web search history and ‘big black cocks’. Or a doting mother with her fobby English accent and typical church vibes, whose son is the apple of her eye. Or a confident queer son trying so hard to keep his straight mask on. Every shift kept me captivated. Tupu’s mannerisms and delivery, especially when he plays a tender-hearted moment as a mother who says, “How can I not love my son? He is my flesh and blood,” hit me right in the chest.

Gideon T. Smith matched him punch for punch: dancing, strutting, walking the tightrope of a closeted church boy who brags about women to the usos but sneaks off for secret hook-ups. There’s a moment where he’s called out for being gay and forced to explain exactly what it’s like to go down on a woman - and whether to cringe or laugh is anyone’s guess. I was dying as he drowned in his own lies, and literally in the awkwardness of acting it out. The duo’s banter, slick transitions, music, and clever use of space carried so much emotion. No crumbs were left behind. They ate. The audience was eating out of the palms of their hands.

Just when you think it is all laughs and filthy jokes (and there are plenty of those), the truth hits you: love is love. One moment you are cackling at a mother plucking chin hairs (this part had me in fits) and the next you are clapping through tears when a parent chooses acceptance over shame.

One of my favourite moments was the fa’afafine character who drops academic theories about gay men like it is a TED Talk. I thoroughly enjoyed the undercover brother theory because, while it was funny, the logic and truth about it had me giggling in agreement. It was light-hearted and had my best friend ribbing me in the crowd to be quiet, but Poly humour is so infectious. This persona was delightful. Camp, clever, and so secure in her truth.

This play is messy but honest. It flips from stand-up style roasts to deeply vulnerable prayers. It is confrontational and forces you to sit with the rawness of queer Pasifika life. It reminds you that beyond the slurs and stereotypes, the church marches and family expectations, love is love and you really cannot pray the gay away.

Stand-out moments

Tupu’s character being so comfortable in his skin as a gay man was appealing to see. When he is supposed to be ridiculed in the club for being queer, his confidence flips the script and makes the heckler ashamed for calling him a black faggot. That moment was powerful.

“Yeah. I’m a black faggot. Recognise.” Tupu delivered his punchlines so smoothly. I hope queer people watching who relate feel empowered by him. The music transitions and the scene where Tupu dances alone, moving to his own beat with no care in the world. He is gay and proud and if you have a problem, that’s a you problem.

Moments of vulnerability in Smith’s character were just as strong. His plea to God to help him pray away the gayness inside him, as if he were broken or less of a person, was raw.

Jake Tupu and Gideon T. Smith commands the stage with raw, fearless energy in Black Faggot.Photo/PMN News Mary Afemata

“Guess you really can’t pray the gay away.” Seeing him wrestle with himself, then put on a front for everyone else, despite the Sonny Bill Williams poster on his ceiling or the way he shakes his booty far too well on the dance floor, should have been a clear green flag that he was a gay man. Yet he fights so hard to prove he is straight, living that double life.

“What do you think the world would be like, Michael, if we could just come all over the place, wherever we felt like it?” This line had me in fits. I felt like a fly on the wall between two lovers. The gay drama, the flair, the partner trying so hard to finish discreetly and not on someone’s wall or duvet. Hilarious.

“How can I not love my son? He is my flesh and blood.” A mother’s love is what I remember the most. This moment was the chink in my armour and brought a few silent tears, and then back to tears of laughter.

An unforgettable, raw and unmissable show from Jake Tupu and Gideon T. Smith. Photo/PMN News Mary Afemata

Tupu and Smith were new to me, but their chemistry was brilliant. It was so easy to get lost in the chaos of all these characters and settings. The mother calling her son handsome compared to the other ‘ugly boys’ and justifying why he has lots of female friends but no actual girlfriend had me laughing too.

As the final tune chimes “It must be love, love, love”, the chaos of the hour settles into a promise of hope and pride, all wrapped in laughter. I left feeling like this hour was an incredible piece of theatre: raw, funny, and so needed. We need more Pacific art and performances like this because even as a straight woman, I found it so relatable. The family moments, the church obligations, the expectations placed on us by our culture, they all hit close to home regardless of a person’s sexual orientation. The lights go out, and you leave knowing that even in your messiest truth, you are enough.

Raw, funny and full of heart. Confrontational. Comedic. Chaotic.

Because in the end, you can’t pray the gay away, but you can laugh, cry and love through it all.