Review: Brimstone and Treacle at The Hope Theatre

Dennis Potter’s Brimstone and Treacle was originally written for the BBC, but banned from transmission for several years because of its controversial content. 40 years later, Matthew Parker’s revival proves the play has lost none of its power to shock and disturb. Trying to reconcile everything that goes on keeps making my head hurt – and not just because of Rachael Ryan’s spectacular 70s wallpaper (though that certainly doesn’t help the situation).

It all seems quite straightforward to begin with. Tom and Amy Bates are a middle-aged couple caring for their daughter Pattie after a hit and run two years ago left her brain damaged and helpless. Just as they’re reaching breaking point, a mysterious young man turns up on the doorstep claiming to know their daughter, and offering his help. Martin Taylor seems like the answer to their prayers, but despite Amy’s raptures, it’s clear from the start that he is not a good guy – an impression cemented when he commits an unspeakable act against the vulnerable Pattie while her mum’s out getting her hair done.

But then. Then it all gets very interesting (if headache-inducing) as events take an unexpected turn and suddenly we don’t know whose side we’re on any more. The lines between good and evil begin to blur, and the play evolves into a powerful and incredibly relevant debate on issues of immigration, national identity and what it really means to “take our country back” – before spiralling to a shocking but strangely satisfying conclusion.

Photo credit: lhphotoshots

Matthew Parker has assembled a small but perfectly formed cast, who handle the difficult material with sensitivity and skill. As the beaten down Amy, Stephanie Beattie’s weariness and desperation are palpable, and it’s easy to see why she so readily falls for Martin’s slick patter. Paul Clayton gives a nicely understated performance as her husband Tom, whose only way of dealing with his grief is being impatient with his wife and hankering for the way things used to be.

Olivia Beardsley has fewest lines but arguably the toughest role as Pattie; in a meticulously observed physical performance, she communicates everything she can’t say verbally through her eyes and movement. And at the centre of it all is Fergus Leathem, genuinely quite terrifying as the psychopathic Martin, with a fixed grin but empty eyes, and a discomfiting habit of turning mid-conversation to address his private thoughts to the audience. His emotionless (not to mention tuneless) rendition of You Are My Sunshine is the stuff of horror movies; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to listen to the song again without a small shudder of revulsion.

Photo credit: lhphotoshots

Potter’s play deals with difficult themes in a darkly humorous way, provoking nervous and slightly guilty laughter at unexpected moments. But at the same time, spooky sound and light effects from Philip Matejtschuk and Tom Kitney keep us on edge and remind us not to get too comfortable – we are, after all, in the presence of pure evil.

It’s safe to say Brimstone and Treacle may not be everyone’s cup of tea; it’s incredibly intense, really messes with your head and may be best avoided by the easily offended or those of a nervous disposition. But it’s also a gripping production, beautifully performed, and even four decades after the play was written, fascinatingly – and uncomfortably – relevant. Above all, it reminds us that while evil may be closer to home than we realise, good will always win in the end – though maybe not in quite the way we expect.


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Review: Becoming Mohammed at The Pleasance

Becoming Mohammed by Claudia Marinaro packs an unexpected punch. On the surface a relatively straightforward family drama, on another, deeper level, it forces us to question our own assumptions and what’s led us to form these opinions in the first place.

The story’s based on director Annemiek van Elst’s real-life family experience, and sees Sarah (Philippa Carson) return home after living abroad for two years, looking forward to indulging in a bit of nostalgia with her brother Thomas (Jack Hammett). But when she learns he’s become a Muslim in her absence, a horrified Sarah does all she can to talk him out of it, assuming he’s been brainwashed by new best friend Musa (Jonah Fazel) and his sister – now Thomas’ fiancée – Aminah (Nadia Lamin).

Photo credit: And Many Others

With time and understanding, Sarah and Thomas set out on the road to resolving their family drama. But there’s a bigger conflict brewing, as an enthusiastic Thomas attempts to bridge the gap between Muslims and non-Muslims within the local community, not realising he’s fighting a losing battle against the ignorance and fear that’s become such a natural part of our society we barely notice it any more. Musa and Aminah, on the other hand, exude a weary resignation to the prejudice against them and it’s perhaps this that hits hardest – the fact that an entire section of society feels there’s no point standing up for themselves because nothing will ever change.

In trying to shed a little light on what Islam is really all about, Marinaro has been careful to create well-rounded characters and a realistic portrayal of Muslim culture. So Aminah can’t be alone with Thomas without a chaperone until they’re married, and won’t let Sarah wear heels to visit the mosque because they “make you walk a certain way” – but all three Muslim characters also frequently swear like troopers and listen to the likes of Beyonce and Coolio. It’s interesting too to see Aminah go from shy bride-to-be in Act 1 to by far the strongest personality in Act 2, with Nadia Lamin revelling in her character’s transformation and delivering some brilliant one-liners as she figuratively bangs everyone else’s heads together. In direct contrast, Jonah Fazel’s Musa shifts from being a bit of a joker early on to take a more confrontational position when he sees his position as spokesman for the Muslim community threatened by his own protege.

Photo credit: And Many Others

While there’s a surprising amount of humour in the play (yet another assumption shattered – why should we be surprised that a play about Islam is funny?), there are also some really touching scenes between Jack Hammett and Philippa Carson as the estranged siblings. Sarah’s visit has been prompted by Thomas’ plans to sell their family home; they’re surrounded throughout by plastic boxes filled with childhood memories. It soon becomes clear that Sarah’s main concern isn’t really that her brother’s being radicalised; it’s a basic human fear of losing him to a world that she doesn’t understand. The problem is, he’s so excited about his new life that he’s blind to her vulnerability – and so the distance between them grows ever greater.

Becoming Mohammed may be based on one family’s story, but it’s representative of many more. The play shows how far we still have to go, not only in our understanding of Muslim culture, but in breaking down the stereotypes associated with it. Only by challenging the idea of “us and them” can society – and we as individuals – move forward together.


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Review: All Our Children, Jermyn Street Theatre

It was never going to be an easy play to watch. Stephen Unwin makes his debut as a playwright with All Our Children, a chilling expose of the brutal programme that saw Nazi Germany send thousands of disabled children to their deaths, ostensibly to ease the financial burden on the state. Over the course of one day, we see the situation through the eyes of five characters, each with a different perspective – and leave disturbed and shaken by the horrors human beings are capable of inflicting on each other.

The subject matter sounds grim, and it is – not for what we see but rather what we don’t. There are no children in the play; we never leave the comfortable office of Dr Victor Franz (Colin Tierney), chief paediatrician at a children’s clinic near Cologne. But we come to know them, through the pain of a mother who’s lost her son, the remorse of another who’s realised the patients in the clinic are, after all, “just children”, and through the cowardly attempts of a man who once swore to do no harm to justify sending his innocent charges to be murdered.

Photo credit: Camilla Greenwell

It’s this, more than anything, that really sends a chill down the spine. Franz is an experienced and compassionate doctor; he’s often funny, has an obvious affection for his devoted maid Martha (Rebecca Johnson), and dislikes the odious SS man Eric Schmidt (Edward Franklin) who’s there to make sure he toes the line and meets his grotesque quotas. Franz could be quite a likeable guy, in fact, but for the cold, clinical way he reels off the official justifications for his actions. Unlike the fanatical Schmidt, who simply hates the clinic’s patients and everything they represent, it’s obvious from the doctor’s hangdog expression, late night drinking and constant efforts to hide the truth from Martha that he knows full well what he’s doing is wrong. The arrival of David Yelland’s Bishop von Galen (a real historical figure, whose public opposition to the programme was key to its eventual abolition) could hardly be more timely, and his dignified rage in the face of Franz’s cowardice speaks for all of us.

The play is a very personal project for Stephen Unwin, who also directs, and there’s no doubting the passion or anger behind every word – but he resists the urge to preach his views, instead presenting a sensitive and balanced debate from which ultimately it’s the compassionate voices that cry out the loudest. While the men each get their turn to argue the intellectual and moral points of the debate, the two women – both mothers – represent the emotional heart of the play, and it’s their scenes that really drive home the horror of what’s happening. Lucy Speed’s Frau Pabst breaks our hearts as she describes her son with none of the eloquence of the men but a great deal more feeling; she knows Stefan will never have a job or pay tax – but he’s her son and she can’t bring herself to share the view that his is a life not worth living. And Martha’s softly spoken realisation that the patients she used to feel so sorry for are no different to her own three “normal” children has just as much impact as the bishop’s outrage.

Photo credit: Camilla Greenwell

A few slightly artificial sound effects aside, All Our Children is an incredibly effective and thought-provoking piece of theatre, a warning from history that reminds us of our continuing duty to look out for those who need our help, particularly at a time of government cuts and growing intolerance. We may not be in Nazi Germany, and it may not be 1941 – but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still lessons to be learnt, or battles to be fought.


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Review: This Beautiful Future at the Yard Theatre

Guest review by Lucrezia Pollice

“If I could do it again I would…”

Funny, witty and effective. A story about war, love, youth, confusion and choices. A youthful romance arises in the mist of WWII. Two teenagers from diverse paths of life are brought to face intricate questions as they experience love for the first time. The performance is lively, charismatic and charming, with a modernised setting making it evermore relatable and the past more tangible.

The stage is minimal, a round bed, a bowl, water tap, clothes and two karaoke booths. The story episodically shifts slightly forward and backward, but is made very clear to follow. Elodie is a French girl, Otto is a German soldier. They are fighting on opposite sides of the battle. She is 17-years-old and he is 15-years-old. He sees her bathing in a lake, she lets him watch for a while before introducing herself. She’s curious, excited by his gun and asks to touch it, and after some convincing he finally gives in.

Photo credit: Richard Lakos

In an abandoned house they find out about each other after overcoming first embarrassments. The writing is witty and light, but constantly acknowledging the underlining backdrop of the war which has become the norm to them. Their time together is what is most important. They are trying to figure it out and nervously break into pillow and water fights, to then awkwardly start kissing again. Meanwhile, two older counter figures Alwyne Taylor and Paul Haley accompany their telling by singing in the karaoke booths.

It seems like a beautiful coincidence they met… until their beliefs and views come into play. The war seemed to be distant, present in the destruction of bombs. Its consequences are present in the room as Elodie brings back an egg she’s rescued, which it becomes their mission to keep warm. The conflict is far away though, it has nothing to do with them, although it still affects them. Otto is constantly scared, pointing his gun at the floor with extreme terror that someone might find them. Elodie has an epileptic attack on stage; she looks happy and strong but there is something lurking behind them. Soon they discover the war is actually between them.

Photo credit: Richard Lakos

Otto, played by Bradley Hall, interprets the Nazi SS stereotype, with oil-slick blonde hair, a youthful face and grey uniform, boasting his adoration for Hitler. Elodie, played by Hannah Millward, does not agree with Otto’s views, but she is torn as to what to do. She knows the war is over, but Otto is still parading his leader and dreams. The performances are acted with such conviction it makes the choices and actions hard to watch. Can the power of love be so irrational? How could it? But then again, don’t we all do irrational things for the people we love?

Artistic Director Jay Miller does an incredibly brilliant job at finding the right aesthetics; a delicate beauty surrounds the stage. The set is minimal, with a stunning backdrop by Cécile Trémolières, which together with the simplistic but effective lighting and music, creates a powerful aesthetic, all elements perfectly in harmony. Spectators were very engaged around me, perhaps partially for the limited participatory moments or for the slightly bizarre non-binary elements in the representation. An extremely enjoyable evening, I highly recommend it.


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Interview: Karen Mann and Roy Mitchell, Care

Roy Mitchell, co-creator of BBC’s New Tricks, wrote Care when he was a student at Manchester Polytechnic School of Theatre in 1977. Last performed at the Royal Court in 1983, this “powerful and provocative” work is about to be revived with an ethnically diverse cast by The Angus Mackay Foundation, and will run from 9th-14th May at the Courtyard Theatre in Hoxton.

“In essence it’s about a young couple in 1970s Birmingham who end up putting their baby in a cupboard,” summarises Roy. “Why they do so takes about two hours of stage time to explain.”

Karen Mann, who plays central character Cheryl, adds, “They’re a young couple who love each other, but have found themselves in an awful circumstance trying to navigate a secret that could alter their life.

“The sense of disenfranchisement and isolation is really relatable. These are good people who are trying so hard but they have never been given amazing opportunities; how can anyone survive and grow without support?”

Karen jumped at the chance to be involved in reviving Care for a new generation. “The producer introduced me to the play and I just knew I had to be a part of it, although I knew it would be very dark,” she explains. “He told me it looked at a relationship that was so raw and real, but the play was so physical, and as someone with physical theatre training but who loves straight plays with strong narratives, I knew I wanted to be a part of it. And when I got my hands on that script I thought to myself I will give anything to play Cheryl; her journey is astounding.

“When I opened the script I saw two humans who are very much in love and trying to make the most of the situation handed to them. I never perceived them as bad people – I thought WOW I can understand how that happened and why they have created this bubble to exist in. The play although dark is so funny and so full of love, and that to me is really interesting because I think all of us can relate to this play in some type of way.”

For Roy, seeing Care performed again after all these years is a surreal experience, and has come with a few surprises. “I’m not the young man who wrote it any more – and yet of course, I am,” he says. “It’s been surprising to see how well the cast and director are able to understand and recognise the characters’ behaviour.

“It’s also great fun hearing the Birmingham accent and language of my youth – it has become very diluted. What is new is the multi-racial casting element; it actually makes much more sense of a couple of things that have occurred in the back story, and perhaps one or two in the play itself. What it has to say about spiritual poverty and materialism I think seems a lot more prescient than I once thought. 

“The idea was inspired by my upbringing; I was very happy but a lot of the world around me wasn’t. Children were invariably seen and not heard – though not in my case! And in particular, the play was inspired by Strindberg’s The Ghost Sonata.”

Karen, her fellow cast members – Marc Benga, Jaana Tamra and Leo Shirely – and director Emily Marshall have been working closely with Roy on the play’s revival. “Roy has been so generous with his time and I’ve learnt so much about the world of this play because of him,” says Karen. “He’s allowing all of us actors to own our characters, but he is so intuitive when we don’t understand certain quirks and is so sensitive when explaining it to us. Roy is an actors’ writer and having him be a part of rehearsals has been the most enjoyable experience – especially considering all the experience he has!”

As for what audiences take away from seeing the play? “That’s up to them,” concludes Roy. “Despite the content and subject of the play, it will make them laugh in places – otherwise we’re buggered.”

Care is at the Courtyard Theatre from 9th-14th May. Tickets are just £9 with code Monkey16.