DEATH OF ENGLAND: DELROY at @SohoPlace

★★★★★

“Essiedu’s performance is beyond compare as he tears up the rule book as well as the flag”

There is no particular order to “Death of England”, the trilogy of plays by Clint Dyer and Roy Williams. They are intricately linked to each other but can be seen as standalone plays in their own right as well. Chronologically “Death of England: Delroy” takes place after “Death of England: Michael”, and there are some loaded references to its precedent, but the satisfaction reaped from either wouldn’t be diminished by watching just one or the other. I can’t say this for sure, though, with only a couple of hours interval between witnessing both (we have to wait a few weeks, however, before tackling the third section: “Death of England: Closing Time”).

The same red cross dominates the playing space, this time scrawled with handwritten phrases to which Delroy adds during his monologue, only to tear up later along with fragments of the cross’s fabric. The symbolism is direct, but everything else over the next hour-and-three-quarters is as contorted as you can get. Delroy is trying to make sense of the world he finds himself in. His scribblings on the floor are like emotional equations that even his sharp and eloquent mind cannot solve.

We first meet Delroy (Paapa Essiedu) as he is having an electronic tag attached to his ankle. Essiedu then takes us on the journey of how Delroy reached this point with a mix of beautifully precise insights, immaculately delivered comedy, self-deprecation, candour and fury. He pleads injustice but never once becomes a victim. There is no such thing as innocence or guilt in Delroy’s world; there are too many shades to people – and being British does not make you exempt, whatever your colour. That is the beauty of the writing, and Essiedu’s performance is beyond compare as he tears up the rule book as well as the flag.

Delroy’s partner is expecting his first child and, while on a shift at his dubious day job as a bailiff, he gets the call that she has gone into labour. She is Carly – the sister to his childhood friend Michael. During his rush to the hospital, chance encounters, misunderstandings, preconceptions and inopportune clashes lead to him being arrested. Howls of laughter greet Essiedu’s retelling, which give way to jaw-dropping home truths. Co-writer Clint Dyer also directs all three plays, continually breaking the fourth wall, more so in “Delroy” than in “Michael”, allowing Essiedu to engage members of the audience with flourishes of improvisation that never wander out of character. Like Thomas Coombes, he also brings the peripheral characters to vivid life with impersonations that ring out with hilarious and venomous accuracy. Nobody escapes his acerbic impressions – police officers, judges; his girlfriend and mother (I can’t wait to meet them in the flesh in “Closing Time”); and also Michael (who we have previously met).

Leitmotifs of Benjamin Grant’s and Pete Malkin’s disturbingly atmospheric sound design migrate from the first play to the second, highlighting the parallels between the two shows. But we all know that parallel lines, while having much in common, never meet. The morality may be similar, but Delroy takes the narrative in different directions rather than just looking at it from another angle. And having seen both shows in quick succession we get a real sense of the depth of experience Michael and Delroy have shared, even though we have never seen them together, which is testament to the two actors’ performances. You don’t need to see both to appreciate this, but I’d recommend it without a shadow of a doubt. Plays like “Death of England” are what keep English theatre well and truly alive. This show beats in the heart of the West End like the vital organ that it is.

DEATH OF ENGLAND: DELROY at @SohoPlace

Reviewed on 30th July 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Helen Murray

Previously reviewed at this venue:

THE LITTLE BIG THINGS | ★★★★ | September 2023

BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN | ★★★★★ | May 2023

DEATH OF ENGLAND: DELROY

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★★★★★

“intoxicating theatre at its best that calls for repeat viewing”

The red cross, in most peoples’ mind, represents a symbol that is potently English. On entering the auditorium @sohoplace for the first in Clint Dyer’s and Roy Williams’ trilogy of plays – “Death of England: Michael” – the playing space consists of a raised red cross. We are perhaps being told that we are in for an unmistakably ‘state-of-the-nation’ tirade but the insignia cuts much deeper and adopts a much more layered connotation. The red cross is also a symbol of protection or of neutrality. An international, borderless, organisation that takes care of people who are suffering. It protects those that wear the red cross. They are not part of the conflict.

The characters in “Death of England”, though, have little protection from their own inner conflicts. In the first of the one act plays we meet Michael (Thomas Coombes); a wide-boy, white-boy, working-class, cockney whose fury can no longer be contained. It is a fury that he blames others for, yet he knows it is more about himself. Coombes brilliantly gives violent vent to this self-contradiction in a performance that is mesmerising, brutal, shocking, tender, vulnerable, aggressive, honest and humorous all within the same heartbeat. His best friend is British-born, Caribbean Delroy. His late father was an unashamed racist whose approval he could never quite meet and whose politics he couldn’t escape. He takes us on a journey through their backstory, through twists and turns as white-knuckle and manic as Coombes’ delivery. It culminates in Michael, crazed through drink and drugs, launching into a scathing attack on the attendees at his father’s funeral.

Although a one-man show, Coombes makes us feel he is surrounded by a full ensemble such is the skill with which he brings the outside characters to life. The anecdotes race past at breakneck speed but at no point does nuance or precision become roadkill. The attention to detail is spot on to the point we see uncomfortable shards of ourselves reflected in Michael’s shattered personality. The unavoidable questions Michael asks of himself are just as much directed to the audience, an all-encompassing ring of jurors and judges that he cannot escape. Just as we cannot escape the pull of Coombes’ magnetic charisma.

Wide topics (Brexit, Windrush, Black Lives Matter) are brought under the microscope while moments of intimacy are thrust into the global arena. The affect is unsettling. On occasion you feel that that the writers’ sympathies lie with the racists, but within a stroke they become the guilty party. One moment it is harrowing, the next laugh out loud funny. The fact that the co-writers, Dyer and Williams, are both black British artists might remove some of the limits of what can be said, but on stage it is as irrelevant as it is poignant. The drama transcends Britishness. The themes are neither black nor white. There is too much heart and soul, and the posthumous discoveries that Michael makes of his father’s ambiguities and secrets are heart-wrenching and heart-warming.

We never get full reconciliation. But the society this play depicts never will either. We think we may have seen all sides of the debate until we realise this is only the first part of a trilogy. Not only are we left wanting more, but we also have the added satisfaction of being promised more. “Death of England: Michael” is intoxicating theatre at its best that calls for repeat viewing. But let’s get through the next instalment first.

Tag Archives: Helen Murray

DEATH OF ENGLAND: DELROY

★★★★★

@SohoPlace

DEATH OF ENGLAND: DELROY at @SohoPlace

★★★★★

“Essiedu’s performance is beyond compare as he tears up the rule book as well as the flag”