Till the Stars Come Down
WEDDINGS have long been a staple of the stage, providing dramatists with a setting for characters to gather, burdened by history and ready for recriminations.
Beth Steel’s Olivier-nominated drama, Till the Stars Come Down, retains its humour and poignant melancholy in this timely West End transfer.
Three sisters from Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, find themselves battling on the wedding day of their youngest sister, Sylvia, to a Polish newcomer, Marek (Julian Kostov).
Sylvia (Sinéad Matthews), the bride, calls on her sisters Hazel (Lucy Black) and Maggie (Aisling Loftus) to help her prepare for her wedding.
Hazel, the family’s sole breadwinner, is fed up. Her husband, Adrian Bower, barely looks at her, and she longs for a bad day. However, she knows she can’t, as her fragile family depends on her.
This bruising play could be said to be a strange one to begin its life in London.
The National Theatre should totally take it on tour.
Anyway. Gifted Steel taps into a wider mood of uncertainty, resentment, and yearning for change, exploring the subject of post-industrial Britain.
Xenophobia is in great supply: “That’s not a language, it’s a Wi-Fi password,” Aunty Carol (a hilarious Dorothy Atkinson) says of the Polish language. It becomes impossible to ignore.
Steel’s chaotic portrait of sisterhood and community divisions, with its unpatronising portrayal of working-class life, is energised by strong a ensemble performance.
The play is hilarious, intimate, and bears the tragic inevitability of a soapy Greek drama. It has around 100 brilliant one liners.
Samal Blak’s unassuming in-the-round set design features an artificial turf and a glitterball, fracturing light designed by the brilliant Paule Constable.
Gareth Fry’s classy sound design adds pop anthems to the mix alongside Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. These moments remind us that time marches on.
This vibrant play constantly asks what it meant to be a family and how communities can sustain themselves in the face of changing times and division.
Steel’s writing’s greatest strength lies not in its depth or surprises, but in the opportunities it offers its trio of performers, particularly Black.
The language is rich and resonant, precise and often cutting or savage.
Modern life is out of control, and Steel forces us to confront our national identity crisis by confronting audiences with uncomfortable local ideas.
At one moment, Pete (Philip Whitchurch), the estranged brother of the bride’s father, Tony (Alan Williams), sets up the guests like a living planetarium, sending them circling one another. It’s a lovely scene.
Instead of assuming everyone is nice, she encourages us to interrogate our own thoughts and beliefs, as well as those of others, and the inevitable fallout of globalisation on a local level.
People aren’t choosing to go right-wing; they’re opting for the destruction – creative or otherwise – of the old ways that haven’t worked for them – because the country is screwed.
Indeed, the polls are going Nigel Farage’s way, and it’s not inconceivable that Reform could win the next election.
As old ideologies resurface and the nation divides once again, we’d do well to heed its warning. This is England, after all.
N.B. Last night, I had the pleasure of bumping into Dame Helen Mirren.
During the play, a rogue pair of elasticated Spanx launched by a character from the stage, landed squarely on her head mid-stalls. She had a good time.
Till the Stars Come Down runs at Theatre Royal Haymarket until 27 September
