We left uplifted and breathless amidst the debris
A wedding day in which not all goes entirely to plan inevitably promises a certain amount of comedy, and the portrayal of an ex-mining Nottinghamshire family gearing themselves up for an afternoon and evening of ‘big-day’ moments for little sister Sylvia provides that, writes Eleanor Thorn.
Beth Steel’s Till the Stars Come Down arrives with something of a buzz in the air in the West End, with its prestigious history of theatrical success from the National, under the continued directorship of Bijan Sheibani.
Two rows of audience on stage at rear and sides create an in-the-round effect despite the classic architecture of the theatre. We are onlookers to the most intimate dressing-room, corridor and back-door moments of events, spared of any aisle-walking slapstick, though the play does have its share of such humour.
It is the East Midlands working-class speak that holds our attention, and the show-stealing arrival of curler-adorned Aunty Carol (Dorothy Atkinson) into the mix who hilariously lowers the tone: “So excited she’s pissing glitter”, being one of the milder examples of quotes.
Sylvia (Sinéad Matthews), Hazel (Lucy Black) and their more elusive 4-times-married-now-single sibling Maggie (Aisling Loftus) are brought together for the occasion. Sylvia, rather than being upset at her dress not fitting, is actually relieved, little imagining her sense of foreboding could be a sign of worse to come – her father fainting being a minor detail. In a moment of the magic realism that makes fleeting appearances, Sylvia dances on the chair with joy and, like in her dream, her fingertips meet to momentarily halt the passage of time. Lights become stars and we see ourselves as part of the wider universe… Drenching rain, too, is provoked with the meeting of fingertips. Little Sarah’s toy space shuttle and dreams of going to the moon tie in nicely.
Social observations (some rather clichéd) abound, as does commentary connected to the influx of Poles to the coal-mining area: groom Marek (Julian Kostov) is one, as was my theatre-companion for the evening, a connection that took us by surprise, and gave us further reason to reflect. Were we laughing at or with this family and their wedding woes? Was it their way with language? Their outlook on life? Their ability to hurl knickers to the crowd, shag on stage or go heavy on the vodka? The interval left us slightly uncomfortable.
All is redeemed from the moment the second half begins: the gear shifts up more than a notch as the mayhem whips up: Explanations of sibling rivalry (between Dad/Grandad Tony – Alan Williams – and Uncle Pete – Philip Whitchurch); illicit love interest (Hazel’s husband John – Adrian Bower – and Maggie as well as Aunty Carol and Tony); irresistible dishonesty from teenager Leanne (Ruby Thompson) with severe consequences – a beaten-up, hospitalised groom and a blood-drenched bride; Hazel’s unhappy marriage, Sylvia’s detecting of the lie, Maggie’s unexpected forthrightness – enough to explode these Three Sisters (think Chekov) in irretrievable directions. It is after the interval that the skill of the actors really begins to shine.
But it is the note of hope in Hazel’s final agonising cry as big-sister-in-chief that leaves us uplifted and breathless amidst the debris.
Theatre Royal Haymarket, Haymarket, London, SW1Y 4HT until 27th September.
Booking and full details: http://tillthestarscomedown.com/
