The first series of the TV show This City is Ours, setting out the trials and tribulations of a Liverpool gangster family, finished on Sunday. Featuring a gangster father with a disappointing son and a more capable (yet ambitious) lieutenant, the series may show the influence of Jez Butterworth’s 30-year-old Mojo, now getting its Manchester première.
At the dawn of rock ’n’ roll, the relationship between nightclub owner Ezra and rising rock star Silver Johnny (Gaz Tompson) may be paternal as much as managerial. Silver Johnny could be perceived by Ezra as a surrogate son, as his birth son Baby (Paddy Stafford) is unreliable and possibly unstable. Ezra relies on another possible proxy, the ambitious Mickey (John O'Neill), for professional support to run his seedy Atlantic nightclub.
Best mates Sweet (Jack Elliot) and Potts (Charlie Watkinson) watch from the wings in the nightclub trying to interpret the body language of local gangster / entrepreneur Sam Ross, who is rumoured to be interested in buying out Silver Johnny’s contract. But the duo is distracted by trivialities and the arrival of Skinny (Matthew Khan), who idolises Baby but cannot resist also trying to ingratiate himself with Mickey.
By the time Mickey arrives at the club, chaos has erupted and Baby is bullying Skinny. Mickey reports Sam Ross has lost patience upon realising Ezra has no intention of selling Silver Johnny’s contract and taken direct action. Ezra is murdered; his body hacked in half, stuffed in a pair of dustbins and dumped at his club, while Silver Johnny is kidnapped. The late Ezra’s employees and his son find themselves in a state of siege in the nightclub awaiting possible attack from their rivals. With only an ancient cutlass and an old Derringer pistol as defence, they consider their limited options including joining the rival gang or just running off to the seaside.
Jez Butterworth’s script combines dry, darkly funny observations with bizarre, discomforting wordplay. Baby notes few things clear the mind like finding your father cut in two. In this culture a ‘toffee apple’ is, apparently, an offer of anal sex. Who knew?
The script is, however, mainly a satire on macho culture. Despite the characters wearing sharp suits, belting out four-letter words and drinking nonstop, it is clear they have not matured since the playground. Many of the sneering remarks between the characters—particularly Baby’s digs at Skinny—are juvenile and homophobic. Women are hardly mentioned, giving the impression the characters are not yet mature enough to interact with the opposite sex and have isolated themselves in a ‘boys only’ bubble.
The relentless self-aggrandisement and boastful breast-beating is like children showing off. Sweet and Potts betray their lack of maturity while observing Sam Ross by becoming distracted by his exceptional footwear. Elliot and Wilkinson are a fine double act behaving like the naughty boys at the rear of the class, finishing each other’s speeches and, in act two, childishly sulking and complaining as Skinny gains Mickey’s approval.
By comparison, Matthew Khan’s twitchy Skinny is the school tattletale constantly switching allegiances and reporting the failings of the other characters to Mickey. Mickey is the closest to an adult in the production. John O'Neill’s stone-faced, grim character carries the sense of constant disappointment and growing frustration at the antics of his companions. Mickey disciplines Potts with a slap like a teacher dealing with an unruly child.
With an unsettling rat-a-tat giggle and a seething, resentful presence, Paddy Stafford is a genuinely disturbing personality. In a stunning close to act one, Stafford dons Silver Johnny’s trademark spangled jacket and cuts some demented rock dance moves as if to demonstrate he has finally replaced the rocker in his father’s favour.
Director Oliver Hurst stages the play as theatre-in-the-round, but the edgy, tense atmosphere is determined more by the cast being in constant, agitated motion. Even when seated, the cast are not relaxed but are nibbling at fingernails or tugging hair. The restless mood is set even before the play begins, with the audience entering as Gaz Tompson paces around the stage like a caged tiger, practising his rock star movements. John O'Neill’s Mickey, being less inclined to rush around, comes across as mature in comparison with the other characters, who clingingly compete for his attention.
It has taken 30 years for Mojo to reach Manchester, and this energetic production turns out to be well worth the wait.