Review – Small Island, Birmingham Rep, 2nd April 2026

Posted on April 3, 2026 by therealchrisparkle

©Pamela Raith

Helen Edmundson’s adaptation of Andrea Levy’s highly regarded novel opened to great acclaim at London’s National Theatre in 2019; an extended run at the Olivier was planned for 2020 but that darned Covid pandemic had other ideas. However, a new touring production directed by Matthew Xia is underway, co-produced by the Birmingham Rep, Leeds Playhouse and Nottingham Playhouse in association with Actors Touring Company; and it’s no coincidence that these three major cities are hosting this production, as they each owe so much to the contribution made to society by the Windrush generation.

©Pamela Raith

Never having read the book, nor seen the TV adaptation, nor seen the show in 2019, I had no preconceptions as to what was in store, only knowing that it’s 3 hours 20 minutes including an interval. If it’s that long, and it isn’t Shakespeare, it needs to be good to warrant so much material. Fortunately, Small Island most definitely is! Instantly captivating and engrossing, Edmundson takes Levy’s extraordinary characters, from both Jamaica and the UK, and guides us through their individual stories and how they eventually all combine in one ramshackle house in Earl’s Court.

©Pamela Raith

Chekhov’s Three Sisters constantly lament about how life would be so much better if only they could get to Moscow. That feeling of missed opportunity and resentment of others in a more sophisticated setting is often found in drama, and I sensed it very clearly here. The Jamaican people wish for that better life in the mother country, England, where talented and skilled people will be welcomed and rewarded for their hard work with a good wage and a comfortable home. As we see the Windrush set sail for England at the end of the first Act, we know what they don’t know – that life in England will not be a bed of roses, and that the mother country will turn on them decades later. It’s a classic instance of dramatic irony.

©Pamela Raith

Small Island is an immense story, spanning a period of fifteen years. We see the haughty young Hortense, removed from her home to live with a cruel uncle and aunt, but determined to achieve something in life. We meet the spirited Queenie, itching to leave dull Lincolnshire for the bright lights of London. There’s Bernard, the anxious, reserved and emotionally repressed bank clerk who will eventually marry Queenie; and there’s lovable, bumbling Gilbert, desperate to leave Jamaica on the Windrush to gain that guaranteed brighter future in England. Linking them all, whether they know it or not, is Hortense’s charismatic and mischievous cousin Michael, who blossoms from the cruel Jamaican household through boarding school, assertively into the RAF, eventually to emigrate to Canada.

©Pamela Raith

Edmundson’s glorious text, due at least in part to her productive discussions with Andrea Levy before her death, paints a series of totally believable episodic pictures, building up the characters, their influences and their experiences, into fully charged individuals, each with their own virtues and vices; culminating with Hortense and Gilbert living with Queenie and Bernard in London. Packed with emotion, some of the problems that the characters face make you catch your breath; no spoilers, but I’m sure Mrs Chrisparkle had to wipe away the odd moment of eye-moisture.

©Pamela Raith

It’s also fearless in its portrayal of racism, in all its forms, causing a modern audience frequently to gasp in horror at some of the language and attitudes. Racism today – I’m guessing – has evolved into more covert and more institutionalised, perhaps less delivered in person but more savage online, to reflect our Internet age. But Small Island shows it tossed around unapologetically, almost ostentatiously and gleefully, and it’s truly horrifying to witness. There is a trigger warning about some of the language and content and, frankly, it’s worth taking seriously.

©Pamela Raith

Despite the gravity of its subject matter, the play is also incredibly funny, with plenty of genuinely laugh out loud moments, often in the face of appalling racism. The ghastly Bernard, to whom Queenie is regrettably married, is irredeemably racist; towards the end of the play, you think he’s going to repent for his error, when Gilbert boldly confronts him with why his prejudices are all wrong. He starts by replying I’m sorry… and what follows has the audience in hysterics; that’s just one example of the tremendous combination of text, performance and direction.

©Pamela Raith

Simon Kenny’s superb set shrinks the main acting area of the huge Birmingham Rep stage so effectively that you barely notice, with informative use of newsreel projection to separate the scenes, a first Act that moodily drifts in and out of all sorts of different locations, and a second Act firmly rooted in the inescapable stark comfortlessness of Queenie’s house – basic decent accommodation for her and a filthy decrepit garret for Gilbert and Hortense upstairs. Luke Bacchus’ striking musical motifs pepper the high emotional moments, always enhancing the production and never distracting.

©Pamela Raith

The cast are superb throughout. With some cast members playing two or three characters, the clarity of the storytelling is fantastic. Even the minor roles are outstanding. Paul Hawkyard’s portrayal of Bernard’s shellshocked father Arthur is both deeply moving and frequently comical, stealing every scene with his minutely observed gait and facial expressions. Marcia Mantack is a joy as the kindly Miss Jewel, always looking out for young Hortense’s best interests. Rosemary Boyle is hilarious as the sensationalist Mrs Ryder, desperate for some physicality in her life as she volunteers to feel the full blast of a Jamaican hurricane. Zoe Lambert’s beneficent Aunt Dorothy and nasty-minded Miss Todd are both brilliantly observed portrayals of outspoken and forthright women, albeit coming at life from very different angles.

©Pamela Raith

Everal A Walsh gives us a horrifyingly strict Mr Philip and then surprises us with a delightfully mischievous cameo as Gilbert’s neighbour Kenneth. André Squire gives a bright and cheeky performance as Gilbert’s critical brother Elwood, Mara Allen a wickedly funny Celia, and there’s excellent further support from Toby Webster, Phil Yarrow and Jordan Laviniere.

©Pamela Raith

In the main roles, Rhys Stephenson is perfectly cast in his professional stage debut as the charismatic Michael; he has terrific stage presence, always gaining the audience’s confidence and approval, and, boy, does he know how to wear a suit – great work again from Simon Kenny’s costume design. Mark Arends excels in the difficult task of portraying Bernard, who develops from emotional weakling to tyrannical husband with total credibility. One could easily see how he could be played as a pantomime villain, but this is a very intelligent portrayal of a self-centred, emotionally blighted individual, to whom racism comes naturally and for whom arrogant reputation is equally important.

©Pamela Raith

Daniel Ward gives an engagingly robust and heartwarming performance as the honourable, but frequently inept, Gilbert; always ready to lend a hand, to think the best of people, slow to ire, but when push comes to shove, he knows exactly the right thing to do. Bronté Barbé is excellent as always, as the optimistic but realistic Queenie, naturally decent to others but tragically aware of the limits that society imposes. And Anna Crichlow is outstanding as Hortense, a naturally refined person who’s learned everything from the school of hard knocks, and who’s not afraid of doing hard work to get what she wants, but she has high standards that she – and moreover Gilbert – must achieve.

©Pamela Raith

Impressive storytelling, constantly engaging and engrossing; it was a delight to see how the audience reacted so vociferously at some key moments, which is an indication of just how involved everyone was with the story unfolding on the stage. Three hours twenty minutes? They fly by. An important and beautifully constructed play, given a first-rate production by Matthew Xia and uniformly superb performances. I can’t recommend it strongly enough. The tour continues at the Birmingham Rep until 18^th April and then moves on to the Nottingham Playhouse from 28^th April to 16^th May. Don’t miss it!

Five Alive, Let Theatre Thrive!

Review – The Comedy of Errors, Royal Shakespeare Company at the Lydia & Manfred Gorvy Garden Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, 20th July 2021

Posted on July 21, 2021 by therealchrisparkle

It’s not often that one feels bound to include the word joyous so early in a theatre review, but these are exceptional times, and no other word expresses the true delight everyone felt at being back at the Royal Shakespeare Company in their wonderful new garden theatre. It’s always a treat to enjoy this most accessible and light-hearted of Shakespeare’s plays, although, amongst the fun, director Phillip Breen has emphasised all its darker and more uncomfortable elements. The result is a cross between a traditional, riotous fun-and-frolic-type approach and an unusually close inspection of the discomfort and detachment experienced by its characters.

The RSC is to blame for my love of Comedy of Errors, having sat in the front row of the Aldwych Theatre in December 1977 agog at the magnificent production by Trevor Nunn, which remains the best production of a Shakespeare play I’ve ever seen (and – joy of joys – was recorded for posterity). The play adapts superbly to a summer outdoors setting – and the Lydia & Manfred Gorvy Theatre provides both extremely comfy seating and an extraordinarily clear view of the stage. You can be sure, by the way, that the RSC has adopted a strong Covid-secure protocol not only to look after its audience but also its cast and crew, with a longer than usual interval (vital to get visits to both the bar and the toilets done in ample time) and excellent attention to social distancing and hygiene requirements. The super-helpful and plentiful front of house staff did a tremendous job.

You don’t need me to outline the story of the Comedy of Errors (but I will anyway). The states of Syracuse and Ephesus are on a war footing and Syracusan merchant Egeon is under arrest on penalty of death unless he can raise the thousand marks the law requires to save his life. Egeon has nothing to offer save his eloquence, but has no knowledge that one of his sons, and his son’s servant – and, indeed, his wife – have been living in Ephesus after they went missing in a sea disaster. Meanwhile his other son, (and other servant) turn up in Ephesus, looking for their brothers, and get mixed up in a comedy of mistaken identity – because they’re all identical twins. Plautus recognised a good joke when he saw one, didn’t he? I’m not breaking any spoilers when I tell you that Egeon doesn’t die.

Max Jones has created a simple but extremely effective set, with a tiled floor that recreates both cobbled streets and wealthy flooring, plus a back wall that parts in the middle to suggest the all-important abbey where the Syracusan Antipholus and Dromio take refuge. Dyfan Jones’ sound design is superb; in particular, the comic scene between A of S and D of S, about the countries embedded in the realms of Luce’s body, works incredibly well with the sound tricks played by the imaginary microphones. One reservation though; at times, the sound of the four beatboxing vocalists became slightly overpowering. More of them later.

It’s the off-beat moments where the production strays from the typical reading of the play that gives you pause for thought. Sound and visual effects emphasise the cruelty of the beatings that Dromio receives from Antipholus of S; we see it as an abusive relationship, like a dog who keeps coming back to its master out of natural devotion but knows it’s only minutes till he will flinch again. And when Antipholus of E is locked out of his own home, the cacophony of howling ridicule that comes from the crowd is enhanced as a mental paranoia that profoundly disturbs and menaces his brain. No pantomime this. The ending, too, is strangely cold; whereas normally you might expect the two Antipholuses to clap each other on the back in an ecstatic reunion, here they’re barely able to look each other in the eye – and the text backs this reading up. The two Dromios consent to leave hand in hand, so a more physical reunion is appropriate; but their long, silent hug becomes uncomfortable as you realise that this is all too much for one of them.

The plays has a hard core of four central characters – the Antipholuses and the Dromios – two additional essential characters – Adrianna and Luciana – and a wealth of lively side characters, who, for me, really made the night. Antony Bunsee’s Egeon is the pinnacle of enfeebled dignity, holding everyone’s attention with his powerful tale of woe, who causes Nicholas Prasad’s excellent Duke Solinus to show unusual compassion. The two characters make a stark visual comparison, with Egeon’s faded glory juxtaposed with Solinus’ smart claret and blue uniform – obviously a member of the West Ham United Light Infantry. Bringing Egeon’s story to a happy conclusion is a fantastic performance by Zoe Lambert as Aemilia, setting the bar for Aemilias of the future, with her hard-hitting no-nonsense Yorkshire bluff providing an excellent comic presence but a perfectly accurate reading of the character.

There’s an extremely funny and vivacious performance by Baker Mukasa as the perplexed goldsmith Angelo, trying to balance his debtor and creditor with beaming but unsuccessful interpersonal skills until the money just isn’t there; I loved Alfred Clay’s Doctor Pinch, portrayed as a yogic charlatan in posing gold lamé; and Toyin Alyedun-Alase’s wonderful Courtesan creates a very striking figure as an almost-dominatrix, alluring and threatening at the same time – you wouldn’t want to cross her. William Grint breathes new life into the character of the gangster second merchant with some fantastic physical comedy, and together with his bodyguard Dyfrig Morris, show how disability can be a positive force on stage. Riad Richie, Patrick Osborne and, audience’s favourite, Sarah Seggari, all bring terrific comic support to their variety of roles.

Guy Lewis captures all Antipholus of Syracuse’s fish out of water status, but very nicely combined with that slight arrogance that accompanies the seasoned tourist traveller. Wonderful use of pauses highlight his polite confusion, and there’s a brilliant bit of comic business with a hand sanitiser that unites the problems of today with an age-old issue to genuine guffaws. Rowan Polonski channels his inner Rik Mayall with a frenetic Antipholus of Ephesus, wrapped up in his public image and desperate not to get a bad camera angle. He provides another strong physical comedy performance which gets him into all sorts of torturous bodily positions.

Jonathan Broadbent’s Dromio of S comes across as one of those servants who pretty much think they’re as important as their master with a degree of detachment and seriousness that helps him escape most of the on-stage madness; perhaps unlike Greg Haiste’s Dromio of E, who throws himself more into the traditional mayhem and comic physicality. When the back wall opens up to allow the brothers all meeting, Mr Broadbent is sat on the back wall, way backstage, deliberately visible and disconcerted, wondering whether he should get up and join the rest of them. That final scene of the long uncomfortable hug cleverly shows the difference between the two personalities. Hedydd Dylan’s Adrianna successfully conveys the character’s frustrations and anger at her husband’s inexplicable behaviour, but I didn’t think she always revealed the warmth or humour that lays beneath the exasperated surface. Avita Jay, though, is excellent as the spirited yet strictly non-feminist Luciana, who avers that a man is master of his liberty and is shocked at what appears to be her brother-in-law’s inappropriate behaviour.

One major bugbear with this production though: the music. It’s a personal thing, and I absolutely accept how skilful it is, and that I may well be out of kilter with everyone else; but I really dislike constant bombardment with vocal shenanigans beatbox-style. And the trouble is that these musical interludes not only separate each scene, but that they also drown out some important text (poor Egeon’s big speech at the beginning is basically ruined by their disrespectful soundtrack) and all to no end. Not only does the music add nothing to our understanding of the story, but it also actively gets in the way of it. Oh – and I didn’t understand all the shopping bags everywhere either.

I admired this production for its boldness in exploring the darker side of the play, and for revealing some essential differences of character between the two sets of brothers. And it’s also studded with some brilliant supporting performances. Not perfect, but certainly entertaining, and a wonderful return to live theatre from this amazing company.