I’m Fine, It’s Just the Wine – An Examination of Love, Control, and Trauma

Words by Francesca Newson

I’m Fine, It’s Just the Wine was performed from 29-31 July at Etcetera Theatre as part of this year’s Camden Fringe. The raw and gripping play, directed with great subtlety by Meeri Aro, delves into the emotional aftermath of sexual assault on both the victim, known only as Woman, and her partner, known as Man. The exploration of this intimate relationship following such a traumatic incident is what struck me.

The play was written and performed by Sally Nash, who, alongside actor Dominic Bryant, brought this emotionally complex exploration of gender dynamics, trauma, and toxic masculinity to life. The performance was honest and often comedic.

The story begins on a deceptively light note: it is the girlfriend’s birthday and the couple are at home laughing over vegan pancakes. Neither of them is vegan, but they’re trying it out, because, as the boyfriend jokes, ‘we live in London.’ Their chemistry is immediately compelling and their exchanges feel relaxed and realistic as they are accompanied by affection and gentle teasing. This believable bond is what makes the play’s emotional shift so devastating.

From the opening scene, the trauma is present; Man discloses that Woman was raped the night before. He responds with tentative care, but is unsure of how to help. He initially attempts to support his girlfriend, but his suggestion that she stay in rather than go out to karaoke with her best friend suggests deeper tensions.

Bryant presents Man as on the surface, charming and likeable, as he crafts intricate weekly pub quizzes in a bid to impress a group of men he desperately wants to belong to. His girlfriend playfully teases him for his newfound obsession with ‘lad culture,’ pints, clubbing, and ‘blokey’ camaraderie that never previously defined him. But as the story unfolds, this need for male approval becomes more insidious.

What follows is a slow and painful descent from protection into control. As the boyfriend grows closer to the pub crowd, who reinforce stereotypical, toxic ideals of what it means to be a “real man,” Man becomes increasingly fixated on shielding Woman, at the cost of her autonomy. He starts to feel responsible for her assault, despite her repeated, pointed reminders that while he may forget, she must relive it every day. His guilt morphs into obsession and by the play’s end, his actions culminate in a violent, shocking moment. From there, watching as an audience member feels quietly shattering as the once playful and intimate relationship is now cold, cautious and disconnected. They withhold truths from one another, their love soured by paranoia, guilt, and grief.

The writing is tight, often humorous and nuanced. Nash interestingly displays the societal pressures that can pressure a man to act in an overprotective and manipulative way in the name of ‘love.’ The boyfriend is pressured by his mother, who instilled in him the pressure to ‘protect’ women, and by his male peers who encourage similar concerns. Bryant’s character is deeply flawed and his slow erosion under pressure is undoubtedly painful to watch.

The play’s most powerful message is the indictment of a society that shames women for wanting to walk home alone, for not calling an Uber, for daring to risk living freely. The title itself, I’m Fine, It’s Just the Wine, echoes the minimising language often used to excuse predatory behaviour or deflect trauma.

This is a brave, timely, and essential piece of theatre, which shines a harsh but necessary light on how men, even with the best intentions, can become complicit in oppressive dynamics when they use control to process their partner’s trauma. Nash and Bryant are both excellent actors, bringing depth and sincerity to every scene, and Aro’s direction is focused, allowing the tension to build naturally.

It’s Fine, It’s Just the Wine is not an easy watch, but its message carries depth and significance. It reminds us that healing cannot coexist with control, and that love warped by fear and social conditioning can become dangerous.