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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Entertainment
Matt Barton

The Gangs of New York review – politics and punch-ups in the land of opportunity

Gangs of New York in Chester.
‘Each swing and blow is synchronised with a steady drumbeat’: The Gangs of New York in Chester. Photograph: Mark McNulty

Sprays of liquor outnumber spurts of blood in this slightly sanitised new adaptation – written by Kieran Lynn, direction by John Young, produced by Storyhouse – of Herbert Asbury’s 1928 book The Gangs of New York. Vying for rule of the city are the nativists, led by Bill “the Butcher”, and Irish Catholics who gradually converge around immigrant John Morrissey, fresh off the boat and in search of prosperity. Contradiction slices through the drama like a blade: dance lessons are juxtaposed with sparring lessons; weddings follow funerals; politics alternates with punch-ups.: dance lessons are juxtaposed against sparring lessons; weddings follow funerals; politics alternates with punch-ups.

Oisín Thompson teases out the hypocrisy of Morrissey, who becomes more disreputable the more he strives for honour. Whenever he defends his pursuit of “a better life”, he can’t help but snarl it; when he casts out his arms in a display of honesty, he also puffs out his chest and clenches his fists. But his story, of an outsider establishing himself, is reduced to straggly offcuts with sporadic references to immigrants as “invaders”, when it should run through the meat of the play.

James Sheldon’s Bill is more bruiser than brute, lacking fearsome flashes of temper. The in-the-round staging (design, Elizabeth Wright) creates a boxing ring arena, reminding us that these are men with bellicose instincts, but powder-keg conflict is limited. Instead of frenetic, scrappy clashes, each swing and blow is synchronised with a steady drumbeat.

Yolanda Ovide gives Morrissey’s love interest, Suzie, spirit and intelligence, so the women aren’t (for once) impotent and dependent. She twists around the stage as if writhing out of the men’s grasp, swishing her hoop skirt as though hoping the wind might lift her out of this patriarchy.

While the play presents politicians as another gang, the city’s corruption is sent up by Robert Maskell’s wheezy, comically craven mayor. These streets aren’t quite mean enough, but the gore, when it arrvies, is grisly: a gargled geyser of blood follows a pliered-out tooth. At the end, flares pump red, white and blue smoke that swirls into muddy purple. A bruise: the true colours of this embattled city.

The Gangs of New York is at Grosvenor Park Open Air theatre, Chester, until 31 August

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