Meet John. John, we learn, had the sort of childhood that shakes your belief in the inherent goodness of human beings, and challenges the myth of the ‘caring society’ in this rich and supposedly civilised country of ours. John’s early life is one of immense poverty, marred by physical, emotional and sexual abuse. A life of slammed doors, dark corners, filthy mattresses, life-choking illnesses, abused women, raped babysitters, battered babies, whipped children. A life blighted by drink and drugs and petty crime. Shoplifting is the least of it, and ‘dysfunctional’ hardly begins to do it justice. At age 10, John is taken into care – he’s quite pleased, really. Adolescence sees John fulfilling his destiny, living in an ever-changing environment in which everything stays the same: another scuzzy hostel, another girlfriend whose problems are as bad or worse than his, another arrest, another hit of heroin or coke or whatever, upper or downer. Life goes on, somehow. Other than for those in John’s life who die and lie undiscovered for weeks, or who drain away slowly with dirty-needles-induced AIDS. And through it all, the inherent dignity and intelligence of our hero somehow shines through: at first, in little glimmers of humour in the midst of the mayhem; later, in the dawning of self-awareness that leads to re-evaluation and redemption.

How do we learn all of this? Through a fantastic combination of fluid physical expression and spoken word, performers twitching and toppling and turning on a revolving stage (designed by Anna Fleischle) sparsely furnished with a bed, a few chairs; the constantly shifting floor, the doors opening and just as quickly shutting, a beautiful metaphor for a life in which nothing is stable, the rug pulled out from under the feet again and again. The team of seven men and two women performers take on a whole host of characters in John’s life, the whole enacted with a relentless pace as we ricochet from home-as-prison to prison-as-home. The choreography is exquisite: this is Lloyd Newson’s DV8 we are talking about – you really wouldn’t expect anything less than an expressive and perfectly executed combination of meticulous gesture, loose-limbed Limon-esque release, and intense but sensitive contact dance: solos, duets, trios. Bodies lean and crumble. Legs buckle. Words are spoken in a ‘non actorly’ stream, often voiced in a strong accent, sometimes mumbled or slurred – at times you have to prick up your ears to hear what’s being said, but I like the way this keeps you on the edge of your seat. The soundscape is mostly made up of actors voicing verbatim texts derived from interviewing John and other men, and also includes (louder) voiceover-ed questions, and snatches of pop tracks from John’s youth: Mama Told Me Not to Come, Whole Lot of Love…

So, where were we? John as a young adult, living out the distresses of his upbringing. It gets worse. John has a kid he never sees, and ends up sleeping rough for five years, and is eventually jailed. He pulls himself together enough to trace the boy, now grown. His son agrees to meet him, but then changes his mind after Googling his dad and deciding he doesn’t like what he’s found. At this point, the show does an odd tilt, tipping us (without any proper explanation) into the world of gay saunas. The focus shifts from John onto myriad tales (from sauna owners and users) that present, in a calm and non-judgemental way, the reasons why gay men use saunas, and reflect on the issues that many gay men consider core to their lives and sexual choices: HIV status, the lure of condom-free sex, the risk of STDs, promiscuity versus monogamy. It is this section that has won DV8’s John its reputation as a ‘sleazy and immoral’ piece of work (at least, that’s how Quentin Letts of the Daily Mail saw it). A ludicrous assertion – these are stories that should be told, and are told with honesty and humour. My gripe is that here is not the place – the sauna section is a whole other potential new DV8 show, and takes us unnecessarily away from the core story of John’s life. Towards the end of the show, we learn that John has, in later years identified as gay, and is finding a new sense of self-worth in his new identity. But unlike the rest of John’s life, this information is told to us, not shown. It comes out of the blue – and we really miss knowing what exactly John’s process of self-discovery and coming out involved. The presented fact – that John is one of the users of the sauna – is not enough to justify the focus on the sauna and its clients in the show. I know I’m not alone in feeling a little bored in the sauna section, just dying to get back to John. When we do return to his story, there is a gorgeous coup-de-theatre when we suddenly, loud and clear, hear a voice-over of what we presume is John himself, stating his resolve to turn around his life: it’s a heartbreaking and life-affirming moment.

In the process of devising the show, writer/director Lloyd Newson interviewed 50 men about the subject of love and sex. John’s story emerged as the one that caught Newson’s attention, and he decided to make this story the focus of the show. But it almost feels as if he then chickened out, feeling that he had to somehow represent something of the lives and stories of the other 49 interviewees – hence the sauna section and the chorus of voices that this embraces. If ever a dramaturg were needed, here is a prime example. Someone really should have said ‘No Lloyd, stick to your guns, stick to John’. It is (I know) difficult when working with true-life stories: you feel that you need to honour your interviewees’ contributions. And perhaps in a community theatre project this is paramount, but in professional theatre, dramaturgical needs override all other considerations. This is John’s story and that should have remained the focus.

That said, this is such a strong piece of theatre, such an amazing core story, that ultimately all is forgiven. It may have its faults, but John’s extraordinary story is told so beautifully and lovingly by DV8 that this trumps all other considerations.