England And Son

In a remarkable display of physically demanding acting, Mark Thomas takes us through the life cycle of the ‘Son’ of the England family. Apart from 'England', we do not learn his name; he could be anyone if we were also as unlucky as he. Doomed from the start: in and out of juvenile offenders institutions and prisons, addled by alcohol and drugs, his life is forensically laid before us. In doing so, Thomas grips the audience’s attention, working entirely on his own—if nothing else, it is an astonishing feat of memory. I had the feeling that I was listening to a correspondent from another world.

To begin, Thomas sits in a chair, centre stage, and interacts with us on the subject of drug addiction and its treatment. He explains that he met Edwards by chance and found that they had similar views and interests. Thomas reveals that this is the first play he has appeared in that he has not written himself. He goes on to talk about how he and Edwards work in the Ark drug addiction centre in Manchester and portray some of the characters they encounter there. They too have contributed to England and Son.

After the interval, the play itself begins. It takes the form of a biography and begins with Thomas in a foetal position. Although his parents argue, his childhood is a relatively happy one. The boy forges a strong relationship with his father, but it goes astray when he tries to intervene in one of the domestic affrays.

The path from then on is a more disjointed one as the action pitches and rolls between childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. Sadly, the path is all downhill. At each stage, Edwards makes political points about care and the lack of concern for vulnerable people’s welfare.

Meeting a new friend, Paul, is fun at first, but the relationship ultimately leads to disaster. The use of drugs results in crime, as the ‘Son’ needs money to feed his habit, and the crimes become more and more serious. The only relief from the mayhem is Martha, his former social worker. We immediately sensed the inevitability of the betrayal of Martha’s goodwill. We understand his disappointment when it happens, but recoil from the consequences.

Again, he goes into a downward spiral that leads this time to murder. The end sees Thomas in the same foetal position as when he started.

Is this entertainment? Thomas’ performance is skilled, energetic, and profoundly committed. It seems an insult to classify You Heard Me with more superficial diversions. As you leave the theatre, you inevitably ask, why did I put myself through this?

The answer is that, harrowing as it may be, entertainment can also be educational when given to us in a form that we can digest. We can digest this, just. But we would not be human if we did not also think, ‘How lucky am I?’

We walk out into the night having had an insight into a different world of experience.