Review: THE PITCHFORK DISNEY, King's Head Theatre

This timely revival of Philip Ridley's first play, The Pitchfork Disney, brought back to the London stage by Lidless Theatre, Zoe Weldon and King's Head Theatre Productions, marks a major moment in the partnership between Lidless and Ridley. 

Presley (Ned Costello) and Haley (Elizabeth Connick) live in an imagined apocalypse, thriving on chocolate and biscuits, rarely venturing out. They are twins who have not progressed beyond childhood and both carry significant trauma. Although they appear as mature adults, they are anything but.

Into this weird fantasy enters Cosmo Disney (William Robinson), money-motivated, flash-dressing, threatening, sexually aggressive. I was struck by a parallel with the demon, Martin, in Dennis Potter's disturbing television play Brimstone and Treacle, in which sex and impairment collide. As for Pitchfork (Matt Yulish), his reveal could be interpreted as too obvious and telling, hammering home the issues around identity and communication. It’s a frankly terrifying performance, but lacks a little of the dark humour that runs through the rest of the play. 

Costello makes Presley a tragic figure, despite his nerves and small stature. His continual desire from the praise and visibility he had as a boy is both very funny and deeply pathetic. His stance, movement, and even his eye contact suggests a youngster who has been sidelined and even abused, yet continues to seek attention from those who hurt him.

Adding to the tension and unease ripping across the audience are the spiky exchanges between Presley and Cosmo, and Presley’s long monologue recounting a recurring nightmare in great detail.  This is a stage tour de force in which all eyes are on Costello, recoiling from the incredible story he tells but unable to close our ears to what he is saying.

That Haley sleeps for most of the play, drugged and infantalised, is significant. Her sleep talk betrays a catastrophic event that has stunted them both ever since. Her early monologue about climbing a church crucifix to escape a salivating pack of dogs is disturbing, but is also deeply sensual. 

The Pitchfork Disney wants you to be uncomfortable. It wants to to leave, as I did, heading out into Upper Street wondering what you have just seen. It hides his purpose close, with its vibrant horror laced with observations and interactions that could be real. 

It’s a twisted play that requires its director to balance the horrific elements with genuine comedy. Max Harrison is more than up to the task, and I was able to quietly observe his reactions to his own work from two seats away. He should be very satisfied with the end result.

Set within one room in East London, sparsely furnished, surely full of fetid air, and heavy with a sense of something not quite right, Ridley’s play takes you by the throat and doesn't let go. It cautions, coaxes, and creeps through you with a weird, off-kilter rhythm and words that require you to keep alert. I was engrossed in the playscript on the way home to savour that language.

With a lot of action taking place at ground level, you will inevitably have a slightly different experience when front on to the stage or at the sides. There’s no blocking that spoils the moment. This is a play that thrives on its stillness then explodes at moments that you can’t look away from. 

For Presley and Haley, the evening may shake them into an uneasy reality, although how, or if, they successfully navigate it is quite another matter. 

The Pitchfork Disney is no less relevant and revolutionary today as it was in 1991. This is a remarkable revival that cries out to be experienced.

Read our Guest Blog from Director Max Harrison on community, empathy and horror here.

The Pitchfork Disney is at the King's Head Theatre until 4 October