Written by Mart Crowley

Directed by Elle Catherine Willcocks and Aaron de Verés

Review by Dominic Corr

Tickets from £7.00

As always, Bedlam Theatre provides a slice of excellent theatre that rarely performs outside of the venue in Edinburgh. From Translations to Mother Clap’s Molly House, they offer an opportunity to catch seldom performed pieces to audiences. And tonight’s reminder from the past? Mart Crowley’s The Boys in the Band is a frank and humorous take on the lives of gay men living in New York City, where the threat of a raid was always a possibility.

With a vicious tongue and a sobering climax, Crowley’s story is a character-driven piece of flirtation and ugliness, verging on a soap-operatic structure and campy as hell, but a play of intensity and a sustained attack on the senses. And directors Elle Catherine Willcocks and Aaron de Veres grasp this once their players are in the right places. It’s a birthday party in seclusion, set in a pre-Stonewall New York City, where a group of friends gather to celebrate. All orchestrated by Michael, a man worried about money, being ‘discovered’, and his receding hairline. But as Michael (and former lover Donald, played with refreshing honesty and subtlety from Ewan Little) welcome more and more guests into the swing of things, the story takes a more revolting and uglier visage – a party where the games are deadly, and the celebrations dim.

Performances across the board are exceptional, with some stand-out roles that benefit more from the script. They are handed golden lines to allow performers to stretch their talents and their skilled direction. It takes time for Kikelomo Hassan’s Bernard to snatch the light from the room of over-blown and larger-than-life characters. Still, when afforded the opportunity by the script, they shine with their emotion-driven monologues. Roles like Bernard, by extension Hank and Larry, are initially played less to one another and more as projections to the room. Dylan Kaeuper and Zac Goodman bring the couple(ish) Hank and Larry to life with solid chemistry and genuine back-and-forths. The fractures are clear-cut, and the steady evolution is a refined understanding of relationships’ grey areas and intimacy’s limitations.

The initial direction takes a minute or two to snap into a pace that fits the characters, where the script hasn’t quite reached a peak of emotion or validation for the characters’ constant movements. There seems to be a concern about staying in one place too long. It’s quite the reverse for the second half, where the momentum of the body dips, utilised in more explosive moments of combustive energy and staggeringly impressive performances which find nuance, even beneath the bluster and humour.

It’s less a problem for Rufus Goodman, who turns the initially antagonistic role of Alan, a straight man who seems to have fled from his partner, and an old schoolmate of Michael who struggles with homosexuality whenever it isn’t behind closed doors. It’s an antiqued performance carried uncomfortably in the stance and delivery, all intentionally, in a resoundingly clever and enjoyable performance. It’s the antithesis of Ewan Guthrie’s naïve, humorous, and floating along with things ‘Cowboy’ (a birthday present for Howard) and Noah Sarvesvaran’s Emory, flamboyant and brimming with energy and passion – the life and soul on stage and carrying some of the dialogue-heavy instances with their characterisation, choreography, and pristine delivery and timing; always saving space for a fragility beneath the glitz. And it’s within these two where Rebecca Mahar’s brief stint as the production’s fight director (and intimacy) leads to a skilfully captured moment of flash anger and violence – expertly staged.

Oscar Bryan may initially have the drawback of being the last to arrive (to their own party, no less), but heavens do they make up for it in the following act – a viper, poised, never moving or striking unless it’s needed. They draw out the best from the other cast members, the back-and-forth ramping until the tension is palpable – ready to combust at the slightest moment. They’re the only match for James Cumming’s Michael, equally as brilliant but far less in control of themselves, as Cummings manages to break apart Michael’s decent over the lengthy runtime, earning the gradual drip and turn from protagonist to, well, outright villain. Gradually, the initial revulsions of Alan’s homophobic nature almost subsided, not entirely excused, but somehow understood, in the face of the more horrific antisemitic and racist remarks which form the piece’s true antagonist – where weakness and vulnerability lead to a revelation late in the game which turns the audience at the flick of a wrist.

A thrust staging which, while ambitious, feels otherwise distracting, draws scope into the party and enables the show to fill more seats given the near sell-out this evening. The design of the set itself is practical. It works well, in a pleasant surprise from co-lighting designers Kiran Mukherjee and Grace Reid, who know precisely how to hue and tone the production without distraction – occasionally injecting a flood of pop-colour to accentuate, often favouring a spotlight in a way which doesn’t feel forced or contrite – instead just a shift of focus.  

Faithful and handling the script’s brutal language, words and phrasings, which would often come with a fast curtain down, have been dealt with deft and confidently – correct in context and treated with the appropriate control; the team here have handled a text with intelligence and a firm hand on the comedy and entertainment value. It remembers Crowley’s The Boys in the Band for its autonomy and openness behind the closet door but presents it to audiences with rejuvenated energy, vim, and just a splash of vinegar.

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