Death of England: Delroy – @sohoplace, London

Writers: Clint Dyer and Roy Williams

Director: Clint Dyer

The Death of England: Delroy holds a very special place in performance history being the show chosen to (briefly) reopen a socially-distanced Olivier Theatre between lockdowns in 2020, a few months after the now retitled Death of England: Michael had premiered, continuing the story of two childhood friends divided by race, love and identity. Transferring to @sohoplace for a repertory run with the entire Death of England stage family, this second slightly updated monologue offers a powerhouse performance from Paapa Essiedu as a man trying to find some status in his Black British identity to root him to a country that fails him at every turn.

Delroy is running late to the birth of his baby when he is detained by the police for an unspecified crime and spends four hours in a cell. Weeks later, now wearing a tag at home, Delroy reflects on his complicated relationship with the Fletchers – his girlfriend Carly, her brother and Delroy’s best friend Michael and their dad Alan – and how his once simple existence is constantly eroded both by the people who love him and the country he starts to resent.

Death of England: Delroy may feel more politically overt than other entries in the series, but writers Clint Dyer and Roy Williams are adept at showing how every moment of his life, every decision taken by others and his eroding feeling of control is defined by his skin colour in ways that it never is for Michael and his family. And while this narrative intersects with Michael’s story, particularly in referencing the crucial funeral scene from the earlier monologue and its consequences for the friends, Delroy skilfully takes the story forward, rather than simply telling the same tale from Delroy’s point of view.

For all his swagger, Delroy is a far gentler man than Michael and the opportunity to see the friends side-by-side in this @sohoplace season really underscores the very different kinds of masculinity that they represent but also why these quite opposite men have remained close for 25 years. The duty of a second monologue is to make the pieces fit, so while Michael sets the scene and establishes character traits for those given a voice later in the series, it is Delroy’s responsibility to make the audience genuinely believe they are in each other’s lives. And while we will never see them together (the lockdown film Face to Face is not included here), we have to recognise Thomas Coombes’ Michael in Essiedu’s portrayal, be able to imagine that these two men who never meet on stage have acres of shared life together. It is testament to the performers and Dyer’s direction that we really do.

Following Michael Balogun and Giles Terera into the role of Delroy, Essiedu connects with the audience straight away, ad-libbing occasionally during moments of viewer interaction and finding the sweetness at the centre of the character that makes Delroy haplessly sympathetic. We feel the stakes being raised as the show unfolds, Essiedu connecting with Delroy’s growing sense of disharmony, of dislocation with Britain, and it is notable that the monologue moves from proclaiming his rightful Britishness to othering “the English” as a group pitted against him and, just as importantly, fooling themselves with empty self-importance.

The production falters only slightly during a hesitant and slightly overlong courtroom speech that loses some of the traction the play has developed, not quite finding its rhythm to pack a punch in the same way as Michael’s funeral oration. But the Death of England is the great playwrighting cycle of the twenty-first century and this repertory season is well deserved with much to say about who we are at a national, family and individual level. You’ll definitely want to come back in late August to find out what Carly and Denise have to say about that.

Runs until 28 September 2024