Friday 27 September 2024

Death of England: two out of three, electrifying

With closing time tomorrow for the run, I'm feeling like an idiot now for not having splashed out the extra to see the third of the plays making up Death of England by Clint Dyer (who also directs) and Roy Williams. Closing Time brings together the two women so often evoked, and impersonated, by son of one and boyfriend of the other Delroy, and by the younger woman's brother Michael. I wish I'd read my colleague Aleks Sierz's review of the National Theatre original, since others this time round were a bit sniffy. Helen Hawkins five-starred Michael and Delroy at the superb newish @sohoplace - they deserve no less, so why have other reviewers stuck to four? All images here by Helen Murray.

The men respectively give their titles to the other two plays, and I was blown away by Paapa Essiedu's dynamic performance as the rent-collecting, Brexit-voting yet still somehow sympathetic Delroy some time back. Clearly Thomas Coombes as his white friend and son of a racist was going to equal the one-man phenomenon, so my friend Simon and I knew we had to see Michael too, catching it in the penultimate performance yesterday afternoon.

Everything about both experiences represents the very best in theatre: up-to-the-minute on the state of our country - not dead yet despite the collective title, which can be interpreted in any number of ways - taking you on a rollercoaster of highs and lows, demanding of the actors that they not only carry a whole dramatic personae with them but constantly engage with the audience in a way that's not uncomfortable for us, and using props, lighting and sound with brilliant, razor-sharp precision. 

Dripping sweat - we could see because at one point he came and sat in the aisle beside us, making direct address - Coombes gives such a performance that you can't imagine how he's kept it up during the nine-week run (ditto Essiedu, but of course we were seeing him much earlier in the run).  Perhaps this play had even more resonance for me because it's about (no spoiler) the sudden death of a father and how a young man deals with it, not least for the racism which surfaces during an England-Italy final in the Euros, dad's last stand, as it turns out. Delroy's crisis is the birth of his child, also very touching.

The use of essential props is astonishing, especially in Michael, where Delroy's ripped torso is represented by the use of an unwrapped Penguin bar (others have been given out, along with bananas, to some of the onlookers). That best magic in the theatre, where you both laugh and cry, comes when Michael returns from the pub to tell his mum and sister of dad's death. Mum's fixed look of disapproval is represented by a Medusa/Gorgon plate, Carly's pugnacity by a toy bulldog. This is genius, and there's risk in having Michael impersonate both the Jamaican accent of Delroy's mum Denise and the calm voice of the Indian restaurant proprietor who figures so significantly towards the end of the play. Even more regrets here at not seeing what Sharon Duncan-Brewster makes of the real Denise, along with the fabulous Erin Doherty as Carly.

Instant standing ovations were in order at the end of both plays (some 110 minutes long each). Coombes and Essiedu should win every Best Actor award going - but jointly.

Anyway, what did I do after Michael and a coffee with Simon but go home and watch the first two episodes of Sherwood Series Two. The second is not something to go to bed on - one of the most terrifying unfoldings I've seen in a TV drama. 

Part of the skill in James Graham's writing is how horror unfolds alongside normality and banality, with Skegness as part of the setting (though the extra twist seemed a bit Gothic). And the key performance here, though all are so good, is Monica Dolan's as a mother seeking revenge alongside the equally scary Stephen Dillane as her husband. I guess the worst must be over, so I'll carry on watching*. Even so, I'm sorry to have left behind the very funny froth that is The Perfect Couple. Nicole Kidman and Liev Schreiber are so good at getting unexpected laughs.

*Update - it's never an easy ride, but whereas Episode Two was horror,  Episode Four is tragedy, and very moving. 

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