Review: London Road

Cottesloe, National Theatre, London

14 April – 27 September 2011

If David Cameron were looking for an example of the big society in action, he may need look no further than the close-knit community of London Road, an otherwise unremarkable street in Ipswich, Suffolk. In late 2006, a group of previously disparate residents had come together in the most unlikely circumstances to forge new bonds in their community in the aftermath of tragedy.

Over November and December 2006, fork-lift truck driver Steve Wright terrorised this usually genteel town, murdering five prostitutes who worked in the red-light district; the consequent manhunt triggering the biggest inquiry evermounted by Suffolk Police – and the attention of the world's media. The extraordinary spotlight cast on London Road soon began to bring together the street's residents more often - a thriving annual flowers in bloom competition, a Neighbourhood Watch and a quiz night. All this attracted the attention of a writer, Аlecky Blythe, who began to spend a lot of time with the still emotionally sore locals, somewhat ironically employing a form of journalism that would later translate her conversations with them to the stage.

Blythe deserves much praise along with composer Adam Cork for the uniquely faithful yet sensitive setting of the residents' spoken words to music. If that sounds like a tall order in the context of the Ipswich tragedy, it has paid off tremendously. The conventions of the traditional musical are thrown aside to remarkable effect. Every intonation, flaw and variation of dialect is captured, often humorously, sometimes bittersweet. The audience, from the very beginning has been invited into the story, with the opening bars of “Hello, welcome” and the shaking of hands of those in the front rows, spoken to music by the character of Ron, the Neighbourhood Watch chair. And while initially it is odd to hear the openings to musical 'numbers' with lines such as “Yeah, s’quite an unpleasant feeling, everyone is very, very nervous …erm …”, the overall effect is captivating. In the words of Cork, “the choral presentation of this story in particular seems to underline the ritual aspect of human experience”. It is a story about deep, centuries-old aspects of the human condition – in which the usual societal boundaries have been broken down because London Road needs to heal itself.

London Road will no doubt set the standard for a bold, fresh new take on the musical genre for years to come, and will undoubtedly encourage audiences to question what is being presented to them. We experience an honest portrayal of civic society's desire to improve its sense of community; that isn't just borne out of meddling by liberal 'do-gooders'. The residents act out of a desire for self-protection, a human reaction to shovel life's nasties away out of sight. But, for all the lighter moments and the sympathy imparted by the audience for a group of people whose lives have been invaded, a reflection by one character towards the end remarks disturbingly on Wright's crimes: “I'm glad they're gone – I could shake him by the hand for what he did”. Ominously, the prostitutes themselves feature just once in the entire production – standing silently on the stage in a poignant moment of quiet reflection. Do we question the girls' plight and the residents' reaction to it? Yes – and that's what makes this production work, because we are not fed the warts-and-all detail of their deaths.

Through the authentic, choral representation of its residents, the success of London Road is a reminder that occasionally, stronger society can come out of tragedy. And, if we had any doubt as to the motives of those behind this production, over £25,000 was raised for the Iceni Project over the course of the show's run – a real life charity helping Ipswich prostitutes and their families in dealing with drug and alcohol problems. 

 

A 'short, sharp, shock' about police brutality in the 1970s

Picture the scene: it’s election night in a police interview room in East London, and the Conservatives are about to sweep to power. The pregnant wife of a young black man, Leon Delroy, has been found dead in a pool of blood and Delroy is brought in as the chief suspect.

Sus was written by the acclaimed dramatist Barrie Keefe (best known for writing the film The Long Good Friday) and first staged just after Margaret Thatcher’s election victory in 1979. It ran at the Young Vic theatre in London, appropriately at a time when controversy over stop and search laws is still very much at the centre of public debate, and with some political parallels too.

The storyline revolves around the interrogation of Delroy under ‘sus’, an informal name for a stop and search law that permitted a police officer to act on suspicion alone. The law was eventually abolished in 1980, it being seen as a contributing factor to the Brixton riots that year.

The audience sits very much in the interrogation room, complete with the dull glare of strip lighting and the crucial dramatic device of a telephone, used to set the context of what is happening outside. The actors even smoke real cigarettes on stage, adding to the sense of suffocation for Delroy throughout his plight.

The two protagonists in this story, white police officers Karn and Wilby (who, as the Camden New Journal put it, “make Gene Hunt look like a character from Heartbeat”), portray the type of police officer we hope has long disappeared.

Sardonic, racist and odiously officious, the actors in this production deliver a performance in this play which, in the space of the play’s single act, turns darkly humourous, laddish banter to an increasingly cold, thuggish brutality.

Sus ran at the Young Vic from 8-26 June 2010, was also recently released as a film, also written by Barrie Keefe, starring Ralph Brown and Rafe Spall.