TThe world has changed since Clint Dyer and Roy Williams’ foul-mouthed, dysfunctional inner circle first delivered a fast-paced, dramatic monologue about how their lives have been shaped by Brexit. As a triptych, it begins with Michael, the son of a racist flower seller played by Rafe Spall, telling his strange story at his father’s funeral. Then Michael’s black British best friend Delroy delivers a monologue about police profiling and his mixed-race relationship with Michael’s sister Carly.
These revivals have been updated to reflect our post-Covid, post-Boris world, and allow us to recognise the conflicting politics of class, masculine identity and racial hatred that currently pervade our society, from far-right violence (Southport isn’t named but it wouldn’t be surprising if it was) to Nigel Farage.
The shows are taking place in shiny new West End venues, and it’s surprising that this backdrop doesn’t dampen their raucous spirit, although there’s less danger in Death of England: Michael, starring Thomas Coombes and set in 2021.
The film remains a virtuoso performance of monologue, and while the central performances are strong — Coombs’s Michael is a lovable Cockney — the effect is a broader comedy of grotesque humor, but the anguished undercurrents of parental inadequacy, conflicting loyalties between his father and his friend Delroy, and neurotic sadness are less apparent.
His father’s funeral is not the emotional catastrophe it was in the original, nor is it the visually striking set piece in which a coffin rises from the stage floor and is swallowed up again.
Over the course of director Clint Dyer’s 100-minute run, we sense the sloppiness, the forced relief of a forced final reveal, and the awkwardness giving way to sentimentality.
The set, designed by ULTZ and Thaddeus Greenaway Bailey, is also impressively constructed as a St George’s Cross, with the audience seated in the arms of the cross, dark, bleak and, with Benjamin Grant and Pete Malkin’s psychological sound design (words echo after they’re spoken), giving the impression of being inside Michael’s mind, though the sound and lighting can seem a bit overdone at times.
Starring Papa Essiedu and set in the present day, Death of England: Delroy gives a much more intense sense of the everyday police racism and humiliation faced by a working-class enforcer who makes no apologies for voting to leave the EU.
The performance here elevates the play into a one-man show of its own: Essiedu has incredible poise, bringing tragic depth and sincerity to Delroy, as well as lighthearted joy and comedy; his angry injustice is unfathomable and you can feel it burning when it happens. that When they come, it turns into a tenderness that brings tears to your eyes.
Like Coombs, he interacts with the audience, teasing and ad-libbing, but the mood can go from light to dark in an instant: he’s cracking jokes one moment and trashing the stage floor the next.
The story explores the legacy of racism and how it intersects with mixed-race friendships and romance. Michael deals with his absent father, while Delroy internally battles with his mother, Denise. Both she and Carly are absent, but Essiedu makes them so vivid that they seem to inhabit the drama. But the women’s picaresque portrayals still feel a bit simplified.
Despite the uncomfortable racial politics, his romance with Carly is real and steamy, and there’s a great moment with a disco ball conveying some intense teenage lust.
It also runs for over 100 minutes and has an unwieldy plot, but Esiedu’s performance, which makes even the most shaky lines seem magical, is a must-see.
