Let’s tackle head-on what a younger theatre-goer may think when they see a play called Maggie and Me; “who is Maggie?” is my bet. It may be the rallying cry of conservative politicians but Margaret Thatcher is hardly trending on TikTok. The 80s are a long time ago now.
The play is a forceful reminder that growing up gay in the 80s was really shit
Fear not, this National Theatre of Scotland production achieves the great trick of good theatre - it makes someone's life so intense and compelling that the question of ‘contemporary relevance’ becomes itself an irrelevant question.
Adapted from the award winning memoir of the same name by Damian Barr (‘DB’ in the play), this is a very personal memoir of a working class boy whose life is caught between the restraints of his background and the tectonic changes brought about by Margaret Thatcher’s government.
There is a lot of detail (the production is 2 hours 50 minutes with an interval) covering topics such as: deindustrialization, divorce, his mother’s brain haemorrhage, widespread homophobia, physical abuse, Section 28, and the worst years of the AIDS pandemic. The play is a forceful reminder that growing up gay in the 80s was really shit.
The text has been adapted by James Ley and Damian Barr himself. The opening section where DB is starting the memoir is certainly witty, but the episodes of a literary agent’s unanswered voice messages, his partner’s martinis, listening to Desert Island Discs and mockery of posh girls does rather smack of drawing-room comedy. The play catches fire when DB goes to a therapist, and the stage transforms from everyday interiors to a vivid internal landscape of memory and imagination.
The stage design by Kenneth MacLeod to support these multiple internal dramas is superb. Gary Lamont as DB manages a delicate balance between the character’s inner struggle with the stage authority to conquer up or dismiss scenes from his past. Sam Angel as ‘Wee DB’ flips between age ranges spanning from young child to young man, and back again, instantly delineating his age each time. The remaining cast of five are remarkable for the ease in which they play over 40 wildly different characters.
When the memoir was originally published in 2013 it was received with great acclaim, but was criticised by Adam Mars-Jones’ review in The Guardian for ‘victim-blaming’ in sections where DB has a positive attitude to Thatcher (‘my other mother’).
The play adaptation has perhaps a more nuanced approach in exploring the influence of Thatcher. DB’s therapist transforms into Thatcher, who in turn takes the role of multiple authority figures such as a bishop and quizmaster. This adversarial authority acts as a mirror to force DB to face up to, and ultimately, come to terms with his past.
The play is not just a period piece, sadly. Superficial appearances change, but there are plenty of children in Britain who will carry deep scars with them as they grow up. At least the story of DB has friendship, and escape – and more importantly than escape, finds a certain resolution with the wounds of his past.
