15.39°C To help a younger generation understand the impact of Alan Bleasdale’s TV drama, I often say it was the 1980s version of Adolescence. Like the recent Netflix drama, Boys from the Blackstuff galvanised the nation, got people talking about the devastating effects of unemployment, and gave rise to a new catchphrase: “Gizza job.”
Working with Bleasdale, James Graham has reshaped the 1982 series into a well-structured play lasting just over two hours, and its emotional impact remains powerful. A group of Liverpool men, all former workers of the “Blackstuff” (tarmac), now face life on the dole and are forced to work illegally to survive. They are pursued by “sniffers” from the Department of Employment, determined to crack down on benefit fraud. At the time, unemployment had soared to over three million as Thatcher’s policies shut down industry.
Although an ensemble piece, it is the desperate cry “Gizza job” from Yosser Hughes that endures. Brought vividly to life here by the excellent Jay Johnson, Yosser is a tightly coiled spring who slowly unravels, revealing the broken mechanism within. Violent, threatening, desperate and yet still loveable, he dominates the stage, keeping everyone around him on edge. His relationship with his children is portrayed with devastating honesty. It is chilling that his cry still resonates 42 years after the series was first broadcast.
Chrissie, superbly played by George Capel, is our Everyman figure in this industrial wasteland, vividly evoked in Amy Jane Cook’s set and costumes. There is also a touching performance by Ged McKenna as George, the community elder who runs an unofficial advice bureau from his front room and heartbreakingly remembers the days when the docks thrived. In a sharp and timely update, Jurrel Carter’s Loggo cuts through any nostalgia by reminding us that his ancestors arrived at the docks in slave ships.
It is a male-dominated cast, but Amber Blease, as Chrissie’s hungry and suffering wife Angie, brings both despair and love to the stage with equal strength. The humour is dark, but it lands perfectly, and I was pleased to find that the confessional “Dan” joke still works brilliantly.
This is a terrific ensemble, powerfully performed. Kate Wasserberg’s astute direction keeps the pace lively, and the moments of community singing are reminiscent of Liverpool filmmaker Terence Davies, especially Distant Voices, Still Lives. Liverpool becomes an extra character in the production. Shot through with Scouse humour and sharp wit, these working-class voices still need to be heard – and, more importantly, listened to.
