In July 1889, an investigation into thefts at the London Central Telegraph Office led to a 15-year-old employee called Charlie Swinscow, who was found to have 14 shillings in his locker. So began the Cleveland Street scandal, in which telegraph boys were co-opted to a male brothel, whose aristocratic clients were rumoured to include a grandson of Queen Victoria.
The story provides rich pickings for James Fritz, one the UK’s most interesting playwrights, who presents it as a hybrid of folk tragedy and satirical pantomime, complete with a burlap-clad horse which kicks the whole saga into action by clonking Charlie’s dad in the head, thus throwing his widowed mother into penury.
On an Alice in Wonderland set of elongated and shrunken furniture, assorted aristos strut around in witty travesty outfits (Naomi Kuyck-Cohen and Lambdog1066 have had huge fun respectively with set and costumes). Norah Lopez Holden holds the centre, sliding fluently between widow and narrator, and morphing in the second act into a vulture-like Queen Victoria.
In one of the most inspired scenes, the queen negotiates her conscience with God, enthroned high up against a wall, before he presents her with a step ladder on which to climb down to a cover-up of her grandson’s involvement. High points such as this, and the queen’s earlier audience with an unctuously squirming Prince of Wales (the superb Séamus Mclean Ross, who doubles as Charlie), recall the furious historic interrogations of Edward Bond and Howard Barker, with added video commentary.
But for all its fabulous parts, there is a curious lack of energy in Jay Miller’s production. It’s as if queer conscience is at odds with satirical exuberance, in its portrayal of aristocrats who are themselves victims of a homophobic society, just trying to lead discreetly happy lives. The impact of this can be seen in individual performances: Connor Finch is far sharper as a postal pimp than as the love-lorn Lord Somerset, even as he is blustering under interrogation. Sonny Poon Tip struggles to hold the balance of decency, pomposity and sell-out in a campaigning MP.
Unsurprisingly, tripling as a brothel keeper, a bullying detective and God, Scott Karim has an easier time of it. It’s all about management of pathos, a slower impulse, to which the play tips strongly towards the end. There is so much potential here, if only the cast can allow themselves to expand into the full shape of it.
At the Yard theatre, London, until 18 November
