Death of England: Closing Time West End Reviews

It only premiered last October, but Death of England: Closing Time, the final chapter in Roy Williams and Clint Dyer’s state of the nation triptych, not only retains its spine-frosting freshness, but feels more dangerous than ever. Not just because...

It only premiered last October, but Death of England: Closing Time, the final chapter in Roy Williams and Clint Dyer’s state of the nation triptych, not only retains its spine-frosting freshness, but feels more dangerous than ever. Not just because it dives headfirst into the socio-political quagmire of race and identity in 21st Century Britain when the very same dynamics disentangled on stage fuelled violent riots on streets across the country. But because it dares to argue that love shines through storm clouds of hatred.

The cast juggle between multiple characters deftly but the tone is too screamy for the tension to build, and some deliveries are so fast that lines are swallowed. Several of the high moments of the play are lost to this, including Carly’s bombshell...

The cast juggle between multiple characters deftly but the tone is too screamy for the tension to build, and some deliveries are so fast that lines are swallowed. Several of the high moments of the play are lost to this, including Carly’s bombshell social-media rant. You glimpse a stronger, more searing play in a few scenes, such as Denise’s sabre-sharp diatribe on King Charles’s coronation (“A 74-year-old man is being showered with a billion quid’s worth of stolen bling”). But these are individual vignettes that do not gel as a whole, the action too hectic yet too long and loose.

It is fascinating to watch Carly and Denise mark out their respective territory in opposing diagonal corners of the stage, as if they are boxers preparing for a fight. In myriad ways they are precisely this, as they gradually recount their own versio...

It is fascinating to watch Carly and Denise mark out their respective territory in opposing diagonal corners of the stage, as if they are boxers preparing for a fight. In myriad ways they are precisely this, as they gradually recount their own versions of events of business disaster. This is a frustratingly centrifugal narrative, with long digressions into past events of often dubious relevance; the protracted account of a fraught family viewing of the King’s coronation left me twitching in frustration. What, we long to know, sounded the death knell for the shared space that housed Carly’s flower shop and Denise’s West Indian café?

Please use the sharing tools found via the share button at the top or side of articles. Copying articles to share with others is a breach of FT.com T&Cs and Copyright Policy. Email licensing@ft.com to buy additional rights. Subscribers may share u...

Please use the sharing tools found via the share button at the top or side of articles. Copying articles to share with others is a breach of FT.com T&Cs and Copyright Policy. Email licensing@ft.com to buy additional rights. Subscribers may share up to 10 or 20 articles per month using the gift article service. More information can be found at https://www.ft.com/tour. https://www.ft.com/content/1d428e6c-db5d-46c2-8258-70f038868b71 In the previous plays, Thomas Coombes and Paapa Essiedu played brilliantly in the round, spinning and gambolling with manic eye contact to engage the whole audience. Doherty and Duncan-Brewster are no less charismatic and compelling, but the points when the pair turn in and interact are like a vortex, sucking the attention away from the viewer. It doesn’t help that the banter, delivered at volume and high velocity, is sometimes hard to catch. At 100 minutes (no interval) the play could last half as long again if the pair weren’t chatting at warp speed. It’s an extraordinary feat of stamina and agility nonetheless.