The Pride

Alexi Kaye Campbell’s The Pride premiered at the Royal Court in 2008. Five years on, and with Equal Marriage finally trudging its way through the statute books, and with horrific scenes of human rights violations in Russia – as well as elsewhere – Campbell’s story of gay life and love in 1950s and contemporary London has a timely and topical revival at Trafalgar Studios.

Philip has manufactured a carefully-constructed facade of respectability in 50s leafy west London with his wife Sylvia; they dine out regularly and have books on display about far-away lands such as Kenya (pronounced, of course, as ‘Keenyah’). Oliver, Sylvia’s colleague, is clearly a pained soul, a man longing to live with his sexual identity freely and openly, constricted by the era he finds himself in. This is a pre-Wolfenden Report society, which floated the idea of decriminalising homosexuality, before eventually doing so in 1967. Philip struggles with his attraction to Oliver, even checking himself in for some barbaric treatment, where excessive induced vomiting is supposed to ‘cure’ homosexuality, a horrific and shameful true practice that could have come straight out of the imagination of Anthony Burgess. In modern London, Philip and Oliver’s contemporary equivalents live a more open, albeit not necessarily easier, life, with the trials and tribulations faced by anonymous Grindr hook-ups, the definition of ‘Queer’ and the role of Pride marches.

Campbell’s writing provokes, informs, educates. It stimulates emotion and debate, from the numbing brutality of what gay life really was like in 50s Britain, with chance encounters in public parks, to the supposed frivolity and contradictions of modern gay life and acceptance, assimilation even. The language transcends the era in which it is spoken; lines such as “all my life I’ve been seeking confirmation that I’m not alone”, and Philip being “a prisoner of fear” speak out to LGBTQ individuals regardless of historical or geographical location. The script manages also to be both witty and profound; the gay community are “innovators in music, fashion, and, er, dogging” according to the editor of a low-grade Lads Mag, whilst a male prostitute may dress up as a Nazi for a living, but still rightfully demands “a modicum of respect”.

It helps that Jamie Lloyd’s production is graced with some faultless performances. Al Weaver shines as both period and current Oliver, displaying a frantic energy, often touching and poignant, with a desperate need to be loved and accepted. Harry Hadden-Paton prowls the intimate space as Philip, providing a controlled and measured performance, which makes his outbursts all the more shocking. Hayley Atwell glimmers as the forward-thinking Sylvia, boosting the play with her natural warmth, while Mathew Horne’s brief appearances prove that he cannot only do comedy very well (done with aplomb as the preening male escort in full Gestapo regalia), but he can do the serious stuff as well.

We are confronted also by Soutra Gilmour’s powerful yet understated design; a faded and stained mirror backdrop allows 50s Oliver and Philip to hide behind certain representations of themselves, not quite revealing their full selves, while it also (literally) reflects back onto us in the audience, onto society.

The cast took their curtain call all clutching “To Russia With Love” placards. Homophobia is still so engrained, overtly and covertly, consciously and subconsciously, actively and passively, within society that a real and pressing need for gay pioneers and political theatre goes on. A humbling shout of “Thank you!” was audible from one audience patron. The basic struggle to live, to be, to exist freely, continues.

The Pride is playing at the Trafalgar Studios until 9 November. For more information and tickets, see the Trafalgar Studios website.