Pride Review – Solidarity between gay activists and miners in a brilliant musical | National Theater

A A group of LGBTQ+ activists in the 1980s began fundraising for a pit village in south Wales in the dark days of the miners’ strikes. It leads to lasting friendship between communities and a massive ripple effect afterwards. This nugget of gay/intersect history may seem like the unlikely path of a feel-good Richard Curtis film — but it actually happened.

There is, in fact, a movie already. Created in the same “against the odds” mold as Billy Elliot and Full Monty, 2014’s Pride was made using a host of national treasures including Imelda Staunton and Bill Nighy. This brilliant new musical reunites screenwriter Stephen Beresford (book and lyrics) with director Matthew Warkus, who developed and presents the show.

The story begins when Mark (John Lumsden) founded the Lesbians and Gays Support Miners Foundation in 1984. He says that this community is just as persecuted as his own, at a time of open prejudice towards homosexuality and a lack of legal rights. The activists befriend the miners in Onlwyn and raise money to lift them out of the poverty resulting from the strike.

This production leans into the same euphoric spirit as the film, perhaps for good reason: emotions intoxicate difficult subject matter, from the normalization of gay abuse to the trauma of coming out to the family (and subsequent rejection) as well as the AIDS crisis and Margaret Thatcher’s collapse of the Miners’ Union.

It’s very quick on its feet, with the action taking place on a kind of makeshift scaffolding and gantry structure (designed by builder Christie) where speeches of protest are made and banners are waved. The show trims some scenes from the film (although it retains the screenplay’s best lines) but augments them with song, action, and abundant theatrical imagination.

Five narrators tell the story together, sometimes acknowledging us as the audience in direct speeches. These are just patches of self-awareness, not exhausting but enjoyable, especially in a surprise scene with Jonathan (Samuel Barnett), the group’s actor, who delivers a wonderful, bittersweet scene called You Might As Well Live, about his HIV diagnosis.

We get snippets of stories from the rest of the group: Mark’s right-hand man, Mike (Matthew Durkan), remains anonymous, as is the case in the film, as does Jonathan’s bookseller friend Gethin (Chris Jenkins), whose story of his separation from his mother does not have the same devastating impact as Andrew Scott’s on-screen story.

However, the story of the shy Bromley (Louis Cornay) and his coming out is deeply moving, as Mum 1 is filled with vulnerability and a longing to be seen for who he really is. Then there’s the climax of his sweet declaration, “I like men.” It’s unfortunate that Steph (Courtney Stapleton) is the only lesbian here (she’s joined by others in the film) but she’s still wonderfully prickly.

The songs are great, even though they are many. Welsh choral music (and a lovely number in Y Ddraig Ar Ein Baner, or The Dragon on Our Flag) rubbed together with moving ballads and elegant disco, and comes with as much wit as heart. They change directions emotionally too, some tearful, others naughty (“Two, four, six, eight, is this copper really straight?” is a chant at one protest) and even with sharp black humor about AIDS.

What gives this show an extra layer of meaning is its example of how coming together can lead to bias. It is especially important to reconsider at a time when gay rights are being rolled back, when difference is viewed as a threat, and bigotry becomes the currency of conversations on social media.

This is a rocking musical roadmap, of sorts, reminding us of the ways we love each other, and a reminder that to overcome our fears, we must talk to those we fear. As a musical, it becomes more than the sum of its parts: a fascinating, deeply moving, and hugely important piece of British social history.