Sarah on theater

Man, this is my kind of play. It’s the kind that demands you wire up one of those fabulously complicated relationship diagrams in your head, the kind that packs the keg with powder, and the kind that lights the fuse on the whole darn thing. “Till the Stars Come Down” is a romantic drama by Beth Steel about the strength of family ties and what exactly it takes to break them.

There’s a rich vein of historical context in the bedrock here. The play is set in Mansfield, a working-class coal mining town in the Midlands of England. This is neither excessively referenced in the text nor is it a prerequisite to enjoy the play—I’m a Yankee and they don’t teach this in our schools—but this was the site of a major miners’ strike in the 1980s. (Also the setting of “Billy Elliot,” if you’ve seen that.) That conflict with the Thatcher government looms large in the collective memory not only for the economic effects of privatizing the industry, but also for the acrimonious personal disputes it spawned, which, in some cases, broke up families.

That’s the backdrop, but as it turns out, it’s hardly the only fault line lurking beneath the surface for these folks. But it’s probably best not to talk about that stuff—after all, Sylvia and Marek are getting married today. 🙂 Lights come up on the big day, and three generations of women are getting ready. Familial themes and the contours of the individual relationships are established; the bride-to-be and her sisters, Hazel and Maggie, are reuniting after several years apart. Their conversation feels lively and lived-in.

The costumes—the dresses—deserve a special mention for adding texture to the characters, themes, and setting. None of the women are fussing about a dress code; you get the impression that they all grabbed something out of their respective closets reflecting their individual sensibilities. Maggie wears an attention-grabbing orange ruched bodycon mini dress. Hazel opts for a more modest wrap of a woman conscious of her age. Aunty Carol relishes the opportunity to dress up in flashy mother-of-the-bride sequins. Niece Leanne is finding teenage self-expression in dark florals. And Sylvia, in a key symbol of familial bonds, will be married in her deceased mother’s wedding dress.

Fast-forward to the reception, and we meet the men, too—most prominently the groom, Marek, a Polish immigrant, and John, Hazel’s husband, who has wandering eyes. The set also comes into focus; the ground is turf with painted white lines like a football pitch, which could be the literal site for the wedding but also gives some suggestion of tribalism. The lighting includes a prominent disco ball which reflects little “stars” all around the room. A few audience members are seated on stage on folding chairs, and cast members frequently beckon at the audience outside the proscenium, as well. We’re all guests.

In a key sequence, just before interval, Sylvia stands up on a spinning communal table, the disco ball is shining, and a cloudburst of stage rain soaks everyone. This is a beautiful bit of staging, if slightly overmanufactured to create an iconic moment. (Need a good poster, after all.) It’s the last moment of bliss. Time stops for a moment.

Everyone retreats inside, and that’s when the tensions start to run high. This is when Steel starts to reap the rewards of so much meticulous construction. One by one, these little issues that she’s built up start to come to a head: lingering resentments from the miners’ strike, xenophobia, intra-family longing, and an accusation of impropriety. The stage is lit in a forebodingly deep red. We’re deeply invested. It’s enthralling soap opera. Little murmurs in the crowd of “oh, shit” and “oh, no, girl, don’t do that.” Intimate relationships, however deep, are ultimately transient. Family is permanent, and you can’t find a replacement once it’s broken. Some crushes don’t have the potential for a happy ending.

The three sisters’ dynamic is at the center of the unraveling. Lucy Black, as Hazel, is probably the highlight for how sneakily her simmering resentment comes to a head. Sinéad Matthews and Aisling Loftus are also very good as Sylvia and Maggie, respectively. The chemistry among the three is really what makes it work, and by the end of the play, the three are standing alone, mourning what they’ve lost. The wedding dress is permanently stained with blood.

This isn’t an objective masterpiece—it doesn’t evade all the tropes and it doesn’t necessarily have a strong message—but I really enjoyed it. It’s a really well-executed bit of genre fiction in a genre that I personally happen to enjoy. My kind of play. I’m allowed to have fun. 🙂