This summer, @sohoplace is staging the Death of England trilogy made up of two monologues and a two-hander. Each delves into a character connected to the others by history, love and blood—each fighting for their corner of England while simultaneously questioning what that means (see also our review of Michael and Delory).
Death of England: Closing Time is the third of the set, chronologically speaking, and in it we meet Michael’s sister Carly and Delroy’s Mum Denise. Not only are they bonded by the boys being best mates, but also by the added complication that Carly and Delory are a couple. Carly is Denise’s “daughter-in-sin” and mother to her grandchild, Meghan. It’s a reflection on racism, gentrification, the meaning of family and, according to Carly, feminism as well.
Like the monologues, Closing Time can be enjoyed as a standalone piece. However, of the three, it features the most callbacks, so there is an entire extra layer of context, recognition and satisfaction for those audience members in the know—from Michael and Delory’s impressions of Denise and Carly’s mannerisms being realised to the moment of Carly and Delory’s first kiss.
The plot needs little explanation—we meet them on the day they are handing over the keys on their failed business venture—but the rich history of their interwoven relationship does make sense, and this is the meat of the script. They rake over what led them to this point, arguing, defending, explaining and reminiscing. The raised St. George’s cross of a stage sometimes pins them in corners as opponents, sometimes lets them parade as equals, but generally keeps them apart, the physical distance amplifying the psychological disconnection.
Both performances are exquisite, with the women lithely manipulating the mood, committing fully to impersonations and switching effortlessly between dialogue and monologue. As Denise, Sharon Duncan-Brewster is almost regal, her physicality fluid as she stalks the stage, frustration, angst and anger building slowly in her weary shoulders. By contrast, Erin Doherty is a sulky and impetuous Carly, restless and, much like her brother Michael, combative and cocky. Doherty is light on her feet and particularly sparkles when interacting directly with the audience, making them culpable through comedy before finally revealing her true self.
Duncan-Brewster and Doherty’s meticulous performances power the piece, which is thoroughly absorbing; however, it unfortunately fails to land the same emotional punch as the monologues, despite a surprising twist. Sharing a story and stage opens up opportunities for both humour and conflict, but it removes some of the dramatic tension with both characters vying for attention, the true moments of pathos and passion almost drowned out by an excess of indignant noise. It is nonetheless an emotionally charged finale dealing with the same challenging and often distressing subject matter, connecting with the audience through comedy, vulnerability and resentment.