Unapologetically honest, nostalgic and occasionally brutal
Anyone expecting a bittersweet, queer story of triumph over the odds in a time of struggle against the repression of Thatcher’s regime against homosexuality when they come to see Maggie & Me will leave with expectations only partially met. Instead, they will see something much more interesting.
Maggie & Me, written by Damian Barr and based on his memoir, explores what it means to truly face your past from the present, and mental gymnastics people do to separate themselves from the things we’d rather not remember. Through his mental revisiting of his memories with his younger self, we dance through a mishmash of 80s TV and film references, experiences of growing up gay, trauma of abuse, and the power of love and connection to help us make it through.
Kenneth MacLeod’s set design and Tim Reid’s video design were breathtaking. Once the story roars into life with Damian’s jump back into his past, the stage opens up from a Brighton shed into a grand, horrifying stairway up the Ravenscraig bing – a stairway to heaven (or hell). The TV screens around the set play the video feed from cameras held by the cast, sometimes an interview of the ever-present Thatcher, sometimes forcing us to watch up close and personal the face of a young boy going through some of the worst experiences of his life.
The show has an extraordinarily hard-working cast, flitting through costume changes and characters and managing cameras every few seconds in director Suba Das’ tightly paced show. Though sometimes the Scottish accents came across as parody, every character rang true. Gary Lamont as Damian and Sam Angell as wee DB give the show its heart, both so deft at managing the huge jumps in emotion the funny and hard-hitting script demands of them. Beth Marshall’s Maggie Thatcher lands a lot of the show’s humour – and I don’t think I’ll ever lose the mental image of Maggie Thatcher in a Diana from V breastplate.
Sometimes the show was incredibly hard to watch knowing that these events were real, especially as Damian approaches the final memory he avoids throughout the whole show. They do not shy away from any issue, be it classism, homophobia, the closing of industry by Thatcher’s government, divorce, abuse, alcoholism, or the dangers faced by young gay men when their only way to meet others like them was to put themselves in dangerous situations. It feels like an attempt to cram absolutely everything from the memoir into the show – and yet, it’s so well-written and smoothly directed that the audience never feels overwhelmed by detail.
This production is electric. Whether it’s making you laugh, making your skin crawl, or making you weep, it will change something in your brain chemistry. It’s intensely personal, but you will leave the theatre not just pondering every detail of this jam-packed show, but also reflecting on your own journey to who you’ve become.