Review by Eric Page; lead photo by Tristram Kenton
This a queer allegory, with an earnest ‘Radical Faeries’ type feel about it, reaching out across metaphor to grasp at common LGBTQ+ histories that bind us together into a rag tag community. It starts as a fall from grace. The Faggots, The Women and Their Friends (including the women who love women and the faggatinas) are living in an idyll of perfection before some of the Faggots degenerate into (hetro) Men.
These Men become the oppressive forces of self-denial, greed and violence who destroy the delicate balance of this mythical perfect world and drive the Faggots and their Friends out into the margins, shadows, and crepuscular gutters of the world, where they scrape by, existing as ghosts in this Monstrous Man Machine of Oppression. The word ‘Faggot’ is constant, its harsh prickly skin abraded by the relentless beauty of sung voice until it peels away to offer a different meaning, a soft seed of claimed back proudness.
Adapted for the stage by Ted Huffman and Philip Venables, this is retelling of history, via interpretation and performance of Larry Mitchell’s 70s ‘Queer’ manifesto of radical community change via transforming ideas of gender politics and love, written when he was part of the Lavender Hill queer commune in New York.
The struggles of generations of queers is explored and boiled down in this crucible of pain and subjugation, leaving crystals of hard-earned wisdom glittering for those brave enough to reach in, or those with sharp enough elbows to grasp at this brutal truth. It’s centred on queerness, we are the focus of the story, and this POV allows the narrative to stay thrillingly positive, embedded in hope.
The fourth wall is a mist here, the troupe gliding in, out, round and though it as if phantasmagoria, aware of us, desperate to touch us, but leaving us, or me at the very least, curiously untouched. For all its need to compress deep truths into marvellous mythologies and fairytales to inspire, I’m left feeling detached. My companion is weeping in the first segment, fidgeting by halfway and utterly absorbed again for the ending. It’s that type of show, reaching in and pulling out reactions from the audience, a very fierce queer audience.
Musically it’s a delight from start to finish and the music underpins this show, allowing the narrative to glide and slip, occasionally veer off the road completely, but ever-present, ever-changing selection of musical styles and superbly played instruments brings it firmly back on track. There’s a rehearsal quality to the set and music, an almost Baroque improvisation feel to it, with counter tenor and choir, harp and accordion, solos and saxophone all joining briefly for a flurry of intersection.
The troupe waft, tumble, race, chase, slump, and bump in all forms of gymnastic contortions in a constant flurry of movement, not all of it has a point, but perhaps that was the point, to suggest a psychological diaspora, a spiritual displacement, a searching for somewhere over the pain hued rainbows of history.
Full cast and creative info here
This is our story, whatever part of the LGBTQ+ cloth your warp is from, this is your mythos threaded through the sharp weft of history, our blood makes the patterns, the denial of our truth is the well-worn threadbare marks of use by the patriarchal forces who shudder now under our trumpets of authenticity. The show is an essential reminder that our battle is not rooted in the here and now, but in the hearts of humanity.
The final segment, exploring brutality and cycles of violence, is done with balletic grace, a seated circle watch as racers chase each other to both dish out and take punishment. There’s some irony here but it’s mostly earnest, the stage drops to darkness. Leaving us unsure of the end.
There are some beautiful performances from the cast and occasional missed lines particularly during the ‘sing along’, keeping with the folksy feel. Overall, it was a softly radical reflective piece, some good harsh jokes pointed at our consumerist elitist culture, beautiful allegories to remind us of who we are and the constant pairing of musical talents and instruments displaying the harmonic beauty of diversity and a reminder that only by reaching out for human connection, by building communities, by engendering respect can we hope to build a better world.
This retelling and centring of queer history is touching and worth catching, it’s a searing read of patriarchy and the audience buzzed as they left, entertained but unapologetically, magically, queered up by these faggots and their friends.
The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions is at Queen Elizabeth Hall, Southbank Centre, London until January 28.
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