A return visit to the newly Olivier Award-nominated play, surely this isn’t the last we’ll see of Till the Stars Come Down at the National Theatre or perhaps even elsewhere
“I don’t know my arsehole from my fanny this morning”
I knew I’d have to return to the National Theatre to see Till the Stars Come Down, so hard was I laughing at half of the jokes that I missed the other half. Gladly, the rest of the world seems to have acknowledged the greatness of Beth Steel’s play so that it has been tricky to track down another ticket on a night I could make (God bless Friday Rush) and you really have to hope that the announcement of Olivier Award nominations means there could yet be further life for this play.
Here’s my review from last time and there’s not much more to add aside from to reiterate how strong a piece of writing this is. The way in which Steel explores how intergenerational pain seeds the ground for that pattern to repeat itself is achingly effective, the love in this family comes with severely sharp edges and barely anyone is left unscathed, even as they come together for what should be a joyous occasion. Hope for a transfer and pray that Lorraine Ashbourne’s schedule permits her to come with it.
