TWENTY THOUSAND STREETS UNDER THE SKY

Southwark Playhouse Borough

★★★★

“gorgeously fluid and dreamlike”

On the surface, Patrick Hamilton’s trilogy of novels, “Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky”, could be quite a depressing read. Written between 1929 and 1934, we are spared no details of grief, unrequited love, poverty, desperation, betrayal, deceit and humiliation. ‘Love’ is the saving grace for the characters that meander within the novel’s pages, set against the backdrop of a 1930’s Soho. But love is elusive, so money becomes the object that may ultimately change their lives. It is testament to Hamilton’s writing that the reader is uplifted rather than downtrodden. Sometimes considered to be the twentieth century’s successor to Charles Dickens, his prose creates an elaborate atmosphere, full of colourful characters that we feel compassion for, despite their faults.

It is a tough act to translate this to the stage, and to capture the conflicting emotions of its protagonists. Simon Reade’s adaptation rises to the challenge with what appears to be little effort. But don’t be fooled. There are many tricks up his sleeve which he empties onto the bare stage, not least picking out the essential details and characters to condense the stories into a two-hour saga. Performed in the round, we witness every interaction from all angles and, even if we are not familiar with the narrative (though it helps) we become instantly absorbed in the fates of its anti-heroes.

“Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky” focuses on three people whose stories interconnect across the three novels of the trilogy. ‘The Midnight Bell’ is Bob’s story, a waiter at the pub who becomes infatuated with Jenny; a prostitute on whom he squanders his life savings. ‘The Siege of Pleasure’, the second book, shows us Jenny’s backstory and the pivotal moments that nudged her into her chosen profession. ‘The Plains of Cement’ runs parallel to ‘The Midnight Bell’ and focuses on the barmaid Ella, whose unrequited love for Bob encourages her to consider seeking solace in a man she does not love. Under Matthew Iliffe’s meticulous direction, the cast bring these lonely misfits and their stories to vivid life, drawing our empathy like a barfly at a whisky optic. Their lives are degrading, but they serve up the same measures of optimism inherent in the books.

Jordan Scowen’s waiter, Bob, bookends the play with a paraphrase of Hamilton’s sweeping aphorism about ‘man’ that encapsulates the mood. ‘You can embitter and torment them from birth… yet there is one thing you cannot do. You can never make them say die’. Scowen mixes world weariness with naivety. He is powerless to resist his pursuit of his elusive heartthrob, simultaneously knowing it is his emotional and financial ruin while ignoring his doubts. We want to shake him by the shoulders to make him see sense. Yanexi Enriquez is wonderfully down to earth as Jenny, unscrupulously aware of her power and beauty. Flashbacks to her past lend sympathy, and Enriquez never fails to be endearing, despite everything. There are moments when we realise her helplessness, as Alex Bhat’s Mephistophelean George Perry encircles her, luring her into the trap that leads her onto the streets of Soho to eke out her scandalous living. Perry’s performance highlights the sense of class divide that preoccupies these desperate souls. Rosalind Lailey, as the barmaid Ella, is torn between pining for Bob while debating whether to accept the affections of the middle-aged, upper-class Ernest Eccles (Michael Maloney). Lailey reveals the depth her multi-layered character, conveying frustrated passion in an awkward pause. Maloney, meanwhile, transforms from the benignly eccentric to the misogynistically sinister with ruthless timing. Lucy Gray excels in various roles that include a fellow prostitute, a waitress and landlady. A mere expression, or nuanced gesture, of Gray’s contains pages of social commentary.

The sense of period and mood is captured well in the accents and phrases and dialogue; while Ellie Wintour’s set evokes the pub culture of a long-gone Soho. The bar of the Midnight Bell is lowered from the ceiling, and other props and set pieces are wheeled on and off with choreographed sleekness. Elizabeth Purnell’s sound and period music fill in the gaps while Alex Musgrave’s lighting adds the final brush strokes. At times, the staging is a living tableau, resembling a Jack Vettriano scene, complete with its sense of romance, mystery and nostalgia. What is occasionally missing is Hamilton’s subtle and intricate prose; but this is replaced by mannerisms and gazes from the performers that reveal their understanding of the piece. There is humour too, amidst the loneliness and unrequited love.

“Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky” is a wonderfully structured play, even if we are often thrown by its shifting and episodic nature. But once we are familiar with the framing, it is gorgeously fluid and dreamlike. By necessity, a condensed version of the novels, but full of their flavour.