“a stunning piano and vocal set that frames the first act”
Seeing this passionate and surprising play by Tennessee Williams – unperformed during his lifetime – is reminiscent of a moment that happens towards the end of Russell T. Davies’ ‘A Very English Scandal’. “I can only speculate,” says Hugh Grant’s Jeremy Thorpe, referring to his relations with men before the decriminalisation of homosexuality in Britain, “but if you do know those men, George, then you know those nights and you know how those nights can end”. What follows is a snapshot of violent and volatile scenes of Thorpe picking up men, and a similar sense of threat and menace hangs over this beautiful and moving portrayal of oppressed male sexual desire by young director Jamie Armitage.
Ageing drag queen Candy Delaney (Luke Mullins) is nearing ‘her’ thirty-fifth birthday and picks up hot-headed sailor (George Fletcher) on leave for the weekend. Taking him back to her apartment, she offers him anything he wants, all at her expense, just for “some companionship”. Williams’ script is a touching and desperate back and forth filled with honest, risky confessions and financial bartering leading to a dramatically violent, yet familiar, end.
Brimming with emotion, Luke Mullins is an exceptional Candy. Starting off cool and confessional, he convincingly turns desperate and pitiful, and years of heartbreak and pain are readable in every look he gives. It’s a moving performance that makes Candy as the shows central figure so watchable. His upstairs tenants, two ‘queens’ played by Ryan Kopel and Joe Beighton, barge into the second act bringing a much-needed burst of energy, and, under Beighton’s musical direction, provide a stunning piano and vocal set that frames the first act. Armitage’s graceful use of light and colour create a beautiful pastel palette that evokes the heat and period, and choice blackouts create dread and drama at all the right moments.
For those familiar with Williams’ plays, “And Tell Sad Stories…” maintains the emotional weight of his most well-known works, and as a drama in two acts, leaves the audience desperate for more. This is just one of many ‘sad stories’, and the passions and drama on show here leave a lasting impression long after the final bow.
“a relevant and contemporary narrative that explores consent within a relationship”
The stage is taken up by a sloping double bed, red material snaking up the headboard to weave through the ceiling, clothes strewn, all slightly reflected in the shining black floor. Designer Fin Redshaw punctuates set and costume alike with bright red, a colour that bring out the intensity of the piece and mixes sexuality with foreboding. Michelle Barnette’s debut play is opened by B (Helena Wilson) entering through the audience, staring wide eyed at us as she moves to the stage, ‘Voulez Vous’ emblazoned across her T-shirt.
In B’s flat, A is preparing to leave post sex but when the door gets stuck, the pair are forced to discuss what exactly is going on between them. Interspersed with snapshots of their relationship prior to now, what begins as a conversation about a relationship unearths an ugly and pervasive misogyny. This is a relevant and contemporary narrative that explores consent within a relationship, the silencing of women, and the double standard surrounding sex and gender, that slut-shames women who have lots of sex and deems them “whores”, yet normalises and accepts this behaviour in men.
Helena Wilson is fantastic as B, urgent and warm, rounded and relatable, she comes alive onstage and is impossible to stop watching. Alistair Toovey as A is utterly unlikeable, callous and violent. Gianbruno Spena offers sinister comedy as C, but his characterisation feels the most stylised, the least natural.
What should have been the final scene is incredibly powerful, as B prepares to go out, shaking hand applying lipstick after a scene of near rape and near domestic abuse. This is an image of absolute strength in its vulnerability, reminding the audience how unfortunately normal this kind of narrative is, how many people have experiences like this and are forced to carry on. This should have been a brutally moving final moment.
Unfortunately this is not where the play ends. There is another half hour yet to come of light relief that descends into something more sinister, and a replay of earlier scenes, that seem an unnecessary over-labouring of the point. This second segment of the play does not take us anywhere we had not already arrived at, and does not give the audience and the actor credit for being able to understand and deliver respectively the impact of what has happened to B in her single lingering stare.
This is a compelling and moving piece of theatre with a stunning performance from Helena Wilson, that just didn’t know when to end.
