In a church down the road from this theatre you can see a quilt, a loving tribute to Connor Sparrowhawk, who drowned in a bath in an NHS unit in 2013 aged 18. Each square was made by someone touched by Connor’s death and his mother’s campaign to uncover what happened.
Sara Ryan’s memoir Justice for Laughing Boy has been adapted by writer-director Stephen Unwin. The show itself is a bit of a patchwork quilt – heartfelt, colourful, bitty – held together by campaigning zeal.
Connor was autistic and had learning disabilities, and many charged with his care never saw beyond his diagnosis. On stage almost throughout, Alfie Friedman gives him a rockstar quiff, quizzical eyebrow and radiant sense of curiosity. He’s often cradling a big red London bus – Connor loved buses, not to mention coaches, lorries and laughter.
The condescension shown towards Connor by experts extends towards his family too – Ryan is routinely addressed as “mum” – and swift, brief scenes detail the ways he was failed. Faced with Connor’s turbulence as a teenager, the family hope a dedicated unit near their Oxford home will help. Instead, he died at Slade House (now closed) and a report concluded that his death could have been prevented.
On a curved white wall behind the tiny stage, video designer Matt Powell throws up blurry street scenes, texts and messages, documents and buzzwords, and damning phrases from the reports that finally vindicated the battle for justice.
In Unwin’s unvarnished staging, the four actors playing Connor’s convivial siblings also embody the medics and bureaucrats who fumble his care and then disclaim responsibility. In some ways a smart choice – casting youngsters as figures who lack empathic maturity – the faux-fruity accents and pomposity are jokey but rarely funny, and can’t meet Janie Dee’s level of fury as Sara.
Dee – paired with a rumpled Forbes Masson as her partner – has a voice husky with distress, eyes sore with loss. Sara is targeted by the defensive Southern Health Trust. “When the shit hits the fan,” she says wearily, “they blame the mum.” If indifference can kill, the play insists on recognising and championing individuality, bright and loud as a Routemaster bus.
• At Jermyn Street theatre, London, until 31 May. Then at Theatre Royal Bath, 4-8 June.
