In December 1978, with the Winter of Discontent in full swing, three generations of a working-class family gather in a living-room in Hull. Patriarch Dad is in denial about his wife’s mental and physical degeneration, full of bellicose jollity about the impending General Strike. And no-one dares let on that grandson Mark is studying Shakespeare at college, rather than training to drive the family lorry.
James Graham’s Sons of York riffs bitterly on Henry VI; warring fathers and sons, the grudges that get passed on, and the way ideals get shaken in their transit from one generation to the next. In the midst of it all sits Dad in his paper crown, tyrannising over the ruined mockery of a Christmas dinner, fighting a lost campaign against “that bloody woman” in which his own family are the principal sufferers.
The excellent company make a compellingly credible family group. William Maxwell’s Dad is dangerously balanced between endearing, hearty bluster and unpredictably vengeful anger. Steven Webb as Mark delicately captures the teenage boy’s mercurial, gormless fragility, hero-worshipping Larkin and Bowie, and perpetually getting smacked round the head for some unintended solecism. And Kazia Pelka brilliantly reveals the unflinching intelligence and determination behind nurse Brenda’s professional cheer.
Kate Wasserberg’s terse and attentive direction is supported by some thrilling lighting from Tom White, as the lethal crossfire of family dissension reaches its crescendo. Sitting close enough to the cast to smell the vinegar on their chips, the audience is lured into a horrifying unravelling of fierce, wounded pride, divided loyalties and clashing ideals. “Now civil wounds are stopp’d” assert the play’s closing lines, but the shadow of Richard III subverts the promise of lasting peace for a family, and a country, embattled against itself.
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Top photo: Kazia Pelka, Colette Kelly and William Maxwell in Sons of York at the Finborough Theatre. Photograph copyright of Marilyn Kingwill.
Bottom photo: Stephen Webb and William Maxwell in Sons of York at the Finborough Theatre. Photograph copyright of Marilyn Kingwill.
I had the good fortune of seeing this production of Son’s of York while studying abroad in London last winter. I have to say, the intimate space and carefully crafted choices made by director and actors alike lent an endearing quality which kept me on the edge of my seat. Not because i thought the material familiar but rather because i understood that if it weren’t something i could relate to, this cast was certainly doing a brilliant job of taking me there. I adored the piece and hope that it is further developed and continues to captivate audiences around the world. Good luck in all that you do. Don’t pay attention to the critics. I’m American, and Son’s of York possesses the unabashed sincerity which is absent in the quintessential (Irish) family drama. That is what we need in the states and I intend to make it so. Thanks!!!