Alan Bleasdale’s Boys from the Blackstuff is a landmark in British drama, and its transition from the 1980s television screen to the contemporary stage comes with both challenges and triumphs. This touring production, directed by Kate Wasserberg, brings Bleasdale’s potent exploration of working-class despair and resilience into sharp focus – with a few bumps along the way.
The cast work tirelessly throughout the evening, capturing the fractured lives of men left behind by a system that seems to have discarded them. Jay Johnson as Yosser Hughes is a particular standout. He manages to evoke the tragic absurdity of a man who wants nothing more than to work and be seen as a provider. Johnson brings an admirable depth to Yosser, portraying his spiralling breakdown with both physical intensity and a quiet desperation that is heartbreakingly raw. His repeated mantra of “gizza job” resonates with every scene he’s in, a haunting echo of lives lived in perpetual precarity.
Ged McKenna’s George is similarly compelling. McKenna’s performance is measured and deeply sympathetic, revealing the quiet stoicism and stubborn dignity of a man determined not to be broken by the system. His exchanges with George Caple’s Chrissie offer some of the production’s most moving moments, and McKenna’s subtlety ensures that George’s story lingers long after the curtain falls.
Sean Kingsley deserves mention for his multi-rolling as Molloy (and others), deftly slipping between roles with a magnetic energy that provides some of the production’s strongest transitions. His presence ensures that each scene he appears in is fresh and dynamic, an invaluable asset to a piece that sometimes struggles with pacing.
The supporting ensemble, including Reiss Barber, Amber Blease, George Caple, Jurell Carter, Kyle Harrison-Pope, Jamie Peacock, Sian Polhill-Thomas and Mark Womack, bring a collective vigour to their roles, though at times the script’s episodic structure means that not all characters feel fully realised. Nonetheless, they work hard to keep the momentum going, and their commitment is palpable.
Visually, the production is evocative. Amy Jane Cook’s set design conjures the brutalist landscape of Liverpool’s decline with an almost tactile authenticity – battered brickwork, steel frames, and the sense of a city left to rot. The costumes, similarly, are rooted in the 1980s aesthetic, grounding the piece firmly in its time and place. Ian Scott’s lighting design complements this grimy world with pools of harsh light and flickers of neon, subtly reinforcing the characters’ fractured realities.
However, there are moments when the set feels under-utilised, particularly in scenes where static blocking and minimal movement leave it crying out for more imaginative direction. In these instances, the visual potential of the space feels at odds with the kinetic energy of the performers.
One of the production’s central challenges is the tension between its television roots and the demands of live theatre. Bleasdale’s script borrows heavily from the original series, resulting in an episodic structure that can sometimes alienate audiences unfamiliar with the TV show. Certain scenes – such as the religious sequences in Act 2 – feel like affectionate nods to the original rather than essential components of this staging, and can muddy the narrative flow for newcomers. The patchwork nature of the plot, with multiple storylines and character arcs interwoven, demands a level of prior knowledge that may not be there for everyone in the audience.
This doesn’t mean the production lacks resonance. Far from it – the piece still crackles with important questions about class, dignity, and the callousness of Thatcherite Britain. The anger that simmers beneath the surface – the sense of communities and individuals abandoned by those in power – is as relevant now as it was in the 1980s. When the production leans into this thematic weight, it is electrifying.
Yet there are tonal shifts that sometimes feel jarring. The play oscillates between moments of wry humour and gut-wrenching poignancy, and while this can be powerful, there are instances when the script’s dialogue becomes stilted or the performances tip into melodrama. These moments of unevenness leave the piece feeling caught between gritty realism and heightened theatricality, never fully committing to either.
For fans of the original series, there is undoubtedly much to enjoy. Wasserberg’s production is a respectful and often moving tribute to Bleasdale’s vision, steeped in nostalgia and a clear-eyed understanding of what made the original so powerful. But for those coming to Boys from the Blackstuff without that background, the show can feel like a fragmented collage of scenes – some brilliant, some bewildering.
Boys from the Blackstuff is a testament to the enduring power of working-class storytelling and the refusal to be forgotten. Wasserberg’s direction and the committed cast ensure that its anger and tenderness remain palpable, even when the production’s structure falters. It’s a show that wears its heart on its sleeve – flawed but fiercely passionate. For those who know the original, it’s a stirring journey back into Bleasdale’s world. For newcomers, it’s a window into a past that still speaks urgently to our present – though perhaps a window that could have done with a clearer view.
Boys from the Blackstuff plays at the Regent Theatre until Saturday 14th June 2025 where it continues its UK tour.
Photography throughout from Alastair Muir.
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