This life story finally begins with Aneurin “Nye” Bevan in a hospital bed, befitting the visionary political giant who founded Britain’s National Health Service in 1948.
As Bevan (Michael Sheen) creeps towards death, flashbacks of his memories create hallucinations reminiscent of The Singing Detective. The curtains of his bed and hospital ward are woven with scenes from his childhood as the son of a Welsh miner and a stammering schoolboy who was bullied by his headmaster. We follow Clement Attlee (Stephanie Jacob, a slightly sinister figure in a bald wig) as she rises from local council politics to the House of Commons and into high office. Doctors and nurses transform into a bevy of characters from his past, and the cast juggles this diversity with a surreal song-and-dance breakout number as Bevan’s morphine seems to begin to take effect. do.
Written by Tim Price and directed by Rufus Norris, the production features several inspired stage arts, including Vicky Mortimer’s ingenious set where hospital curtains swing to reveal a discussion room and library. There is. But the story is too long and schematic, and its extensively researched material is dramatically under-absorbed.
Co-produced with the Wales Millennium Center and running over two-and-a-half hours, Nye is an oversimplified, syrupy exploration of the personal and political elements of Bevan’s world. There are also some high-pitched moments accompanied by great music.
Bevan is portrayed as a traitor, much like Jeremy Corbyn at the time, and a thorn in both Winston Churchill (played well by Tony Jayawardena) and the Labor Party. It depicts Congressional meetings, parliamentary debates, his first meeting with his wife Jenny Lee (Sharon Small), and the war and its aftermath. There’s so much packed into his final half-hour, which seems to encapsulate the great invention of the NHS.
Only then will we learn how vehemently doctors across the country opposed Bevan’s proposal. On screen, we interact with a hostile corps of medics that look like holograms from Minority Report, and we navigate our way through them. There’s enough conflict built into this conflict to merit a full-length drama.
The scene (gray helmet hair, checkered pajamas) captures his natural charm well. He brings the playfulness and vulnerability of a curious fae, but never delves into the depth of his character as a commander. Or maybe the busy script doesn’t allow for that. However, Bevan brings emotional mildness as he has his limitations as the son of a dying father and he is too busy looking out for the welfare of the nation to be there for him.
Small isn’t given much room to maneuver either, and Lee is used for expository rather than dramatic purposes. She talks about her open marriage and describes Bevan as a “stag in heat”, at odds with the man in cute pajamas on stage. She briefly reflects on navigating between her career as Westminster’s youngest MP and one of only five female MPs and her marriage. Both she and Bevan come from working-class backgrounds, and there are moments in this sacred space where he talks about “imposter syndrome.” She makes it clear that she is an outsider. “That’s why this place needs us.” Despite these lively lines, she maintains her composure, which seems like a crime. Her character could have been much richer.
Nye still plays an important role, as Bevan is an essential figure in British history. He succeeds in showing how high the hurdles he faced were. His description of pre-war health care (services for the rich and services for the poor) is reminiscent of today’s two-tiered system. “I want to give you dignity,” he says at the launch of the NHS. It’s an exciting moment, but also one with a horrifying and tragic irony, considering what’s yet to come with his precious legacy.
