Writer: Amy Clarke
Director: Brian Brady
An Irish mother named Sally tiptoes downstairs after her first night spent in bed with another woman whilst a young queer 20-something lies sick on the sofa bed, his body writhing from the deadly effects of HIV. He contracted the virus from her son named Shay, but all, absolutely all, is to be forgiven, despite the obvious guilt, blame and shame. This is the tangled web of Mammy’s House.
It’s a tale of queer joy, queer humiliation and ultimately queer love that glitters (quite literally) through all, despite the AIDS crisis which looms throughout the narrative action. The disease might shake the very foundations of Mammy’s house, the terraced Camden home serving as shelter for many homosexuals during the 1980s owned by ‘Mammy’ — an older man who lost his one true love, Cyril, years before — but never, never, is this home fully broken.
More often than not, it is a quite brilliant play: quiet in moments of pain and deafening, brazen or joyously resilient in moments of humour. When Niall/Nellie (Conor O’Dwyer), the defiantly queer young man who loves cowboys, finally passes from AIDS, his last message is to inform Mammy ( Derek Murphy, also one of the show’s creators) of the lesbian affair that has been happening behind his back between Sally (Ciara Pouncett) and Mal. It’s great to see so many actors and a stage fully employed at Upstairs at The Gatehouse this September.
The plot is as threaded, woollen and colourful as the blanket which adorns the sofa at the play’s end; a quilt embroidered with the names of those who do not survive this retelling of the AIDS crisis. And the set, though perhaps not explored to its fullest, succeeds in being one of the best one can see from a pub theatre.
The acting, if haphazard and very occasionally stuttering, appears as a treat. Long breaks between scenes where stage assistants make changes could be done away with, as they only serve to sap some of the performers’ energy. But when those bed sheets are rolled up signifying Niall’s/Nellie’s death – that same boy we have watched fall from drag star to sick-bed patient – the audience is all there, with him, gasping for breath.
‘The famine is something ingrained in every Irish person,’ says Mammy, but to be Irish and queer in London, well, he thinks that the British public in the 1980s can’t decide whether he is a ‘terrorist’ or a ‘molester’. It’s one of the many jokes, told through a bitten lip, that populates the play. And Mammy’s House, staying true to many charitable Irish sponsors, isn’t afraid to be brutal, to be honest and speak the truth of a lost generation, whilst making us laugh along the way.
Runs until 13 September 2026
