The history of nudity on stage is a rich, epic and often hilarious subject. It is also a bit tawdry and sporadically ugly. From the semi-nude stationary women in 1950s Soho clubs, posing in ‘Classical’ tableaux to handfuls of dirty old men, to the “theatrical Viagra” of a naked Nicole Kidman in the Donmar’s production of The Blue Room, bare titillation for cold cash remains a consistent hot potato.
Bond hopeful and Happy Valley star, James Norton got naked in the harrowing stage adaptation of Hanya Yanagihara ’s A Little Life. Despite the play’s relentless themes of suicide, self-harm and paedophilia, audience members sneaked snaps of a nudey Norton and posted them on social media. Live nudity has potential to be fire. This is its undeniable power, and also it’s filthy flaw. The naked body on stage is often a punchline, or a perv magnet, even when serving a high art ambition. It also bears no relation to naturism, an almost extinct philosophy that never caught on because it’s dull and difficult to monetise.
Baring the body can be political, provocative and oddly enough, extremely boring, but the performer has no control of how it’s perceived. Obviously, women are more likely to be judged harshly, while willy-waving men are often hailed as ‘brave’. As a young drama student, I posed nude for gay erotic publications and did amateur strip contests at ropey gay bars. Perhaps it was brave, but I REALLY needed the money.
In 1989, the £100 cash prize, for a winning amateur strip, was a huge amount of money. Especially for a 19-year-old. The age of consent for homosexuality was 21 at the time. My naked ambition was undoubtedly illegal. Breaking the law, as a nude, dancing teenager in a gay pub; taught me a great deal. It also paid the rent and gave invaluable lessons in stagecraft and the ephemeral nature of dignity. I posed nude for a fashion glossy in ’98, became as a camera man on adult movies and worked as a go-go boy for 7 days non-stop at a gay after-hours at Glastonbury Festival in 2018.
When it comes to nudity on stage, I’m no stranger to that rodeo. Neither is Boys in the Buff, which has been knocking around, in slightly modified formats since 2007. This is the show’s 8th run, having done turns at Edinburgh Fringe, Drayton Arms Theatre, Stockwell Playhouse and the Kings Head. Now at the Golden Goose, it’s billed as a “Christmas spectacular for adults”.
This camp and energetic musical revue tries to ride the ‘body positivity’ bus, just as the wheels are coming off the entire ‘wellness’ industry. Bony waifs are back on the catwalks, Lizzo is in the dock, and Tate-loving teen lads are banging steroids and fretting about their biceps. Influencers lie, celebrities are shrinking and nobody’s happy with how they look. Not even children, who used to be in the only demographic relatively free from this epidemic of self-loathing. Body dysmorphia is an extremely complex horror show that’s being super charged by social media, declining mental health and empty corporate slogans.
Boys in the Buff pays glib lip service to the concept of body confidence. It fails on that premise with such gusto that it’s quite dazzling to behold. Words and music are courtesy of Chris Burgess, who should ditch any ambitions of depth, plot or insight. Those potential attributes are worryingly thin. Cursory nods in that direction are clunky and mildly offensive. On a wider note, the show’s core message has little comfort for audience members who might be disabled or veterans at the sharper end of eating disorders, dysmorphia, bullying or racial abuse. Despite this catalogue of baffling flaws, it’s an entertaining spectacle.
Drag queen Tish Weinman plays Maxie and feels like a West End star who got the wrong nightbus and wound up in Camberwell. I’ve done that myself. You just have to make the best of it, which is what Weinman does, as the Mother-in-Chief of a troupe of singing strippers. Weinman is the only cast member who doesn’t get naked at the finale. This anomaly shatters the show’s raison d’etre and is an unforgiveable missed opportunity. A naked drag queen is a tad subversive and offers thoughts on gender and costume. Boys in the Buff swerves THAT conversation with questionable efficiency.
The parodic references to pop and musical theatre are pleasingly cheeky. There are boyband baiting ballads, a dash of Cabaret and a hefty wink at La Cage Aux Folles. Musical director Aaron Clingham and Andy Collyer’s arrangements are very effective at evoking the show’s broad sweep of genres.
Perhaps the most imaginative number is a bluesy take on Shakespeare’s ‘To Be or Not to Be’ soliloquy. Performed by Luca the “Italian stallion” (Max Rizzo), it’s simple, dramatic and perhaps the show’s only erotic moment. While the undeniably hot-bodied Rizzo smoulders with ease, it’s hard to swallow his backstory as a previously obese kid who beat the bullies by becoming a gym bunny. When he sings about the liberation of not being that fat boy anymore, the wispy façade fell to the floor.
In his head, Luca will ALWAYS be that big lad, even when he’s evidently not. He will live in fear of a return to his chubbier self for the rest of his life. Weight loss is usually in tandem with a self-imposed prison of discipline and shame. The grim slog of external modification often delivers additional insecurities, while the original issues hide like a ticking time bomb.
That’s the problem with Boys in the Buff. It may have the chops for harmless entertainment, but dances rather close to harmful content in the process. The least troubling character in the show is Dan (Rowan Armitt-Brewster), a comedically dim and oversexed exhibitionist. He’s not on a ‘journey’ or struggling for acceptance like his fictional co-stars. Dan gets off on whacking his dick out. Anywhere. Everywhere. The boy can’t help it. He sings a song about streaking at a football match and dreams of being a porn star. His story arc has vérité, even if it lacks an explanation for this interesting fetish.
After the show, Armitt-Brewster was taken aback when I suggested his character was largely motivated by being a bit of a pervert.
“That’s a valid observation,” he replied diplomatically.
At one point in the show, MC Maxie invites a member of the audience to join her on stage and ‘remove one item of clothing’. The middle-aged woman who volunteered, hailed from Portland, Oregan. She was make-up free and her silvery long hair was tied in a loose ponytail. She swaggered on stage with a martini glass in her hand. The booze was sanctioned, but she cockily removed her full-length fake fur coat, which she then flung across the stage, almost flooring two cast members like skittles. Underneath, she revealed a raggedy Brian Jonestown Massacre t-shirt. That random fabulous woman filled the stage with Big Dick I Don’t Give a F energy. It was sexy and inspirational to behold. It was also a happy accident that gave the show it’s only radical moment of gravity.
Boys in the Buff is at Golden Goose Theatre until January 10th, 2026
https://www.goldengoosetheatre.co.uk
Reviewer: Stewart Who?
Reviewed: 19th December 2025
North West End UK Rating: