Children of the Night review – Party like it’s 1997 in Vegas in Yorkshire | stage

IIf you walked down Duke Street in Doncaster today, you would see no sign of the old Charisma Club, with its bright facade and cumbersome staircase. Long converted into shops and then apartments, it had a magnetic appeal to a generation of 1990s clubgoers whose desire to escape the dance floor justified hour-long queues (except for those who had mastered the art of sneaking to the front).

The Coach and Horses is still on the road, as is the city center that exudes the hedonistic spirit more commonly associated with Magaluf. It is, as Daniel Phillips’s lively play puts it, “Yorkshire’s own Vegas.”

The reason for this lies in the city’s proximity to a number of mining villages. Doncaster is a place where working-class revelers have traditionally drawn – and continue to do so long after Margaret Thatcher’s attack on the coal industry robbed the area of ​​its economic heart.

Inspired by interviews with Charisma regulars, this is a seam that runs just beneath the surface of Children of the Night, a celebration of teenage vitality and a reflection on the social forces shaping popular culture. Writing lively urban poetry – and performing with brassy confidence – Phillips takes us back to 1997 when the Conservatives were sacked, Robbie Williams released his first solo album, and the UK won Eurovision with Love Shine a Light.

Things can only get better, and with two best friends, Lindsay and Jane, making their Charisma debut (Phillips is joined by Charlotte Brown in equal measure), the power of DJ Don’s voice adds to the fun of dancing, drinking and debauchery. Adding to the darker mood in the coming years are a cluster of HIV infections and Lindsay’s kindly father (Gareth Radcliffe) who suffers from cerebral hypoxia, a result of his time in the mines.

Kimberly Sykes’ fast-paced performance for Mad Friday Productions was initially at its peak, when a reference to Mothercare Corner and Biscuit Billy’s music earned appreciative laughs from the home audience. Later scenes lose some of that spark, but they remain a quietly perceptive account of working-class women’s experience.