The 39 Steps Review – Derby Theatre

9 minutes ago

3 min read

★★★★★

The 39 Steps at Derby Theatre is so stupid that it is brilliant. Cal McCrystal’s production takes five extremely funny actors, a handful of chairs, some cloth, two enormous crates and the basic framework of a Hitchcock spy thriller, then makes it as ridiculous as possible. This review comes with a fairly simple verdict: I physically cried with laughter and my face hurt from smiling.

Man in plaid suit sits in leather chair, holding a knife, while a woman in a sequined dress lies across his lap on a dark stage. — Ryan Starling and Sophie Bloor. Photo Credit: Graeme Braidwood.

Richard Hannay is an ordinary man suddenly dragged into murder, espionage and a conspiracy from London to Scotland after a mysterious woman enters his life. Patrick Barlow’s adaptation takes John Buchan’s story and Hitchcock’s famous film and recreates its trains, chases, villains, romantic encounters and sweeping locations with a tiny cast playing more than 130 characters. Hannay remains relatively constant while the world around him becomes increasingly unhinged.

Director Cal McCrystal understands that the funniest version of this play comes from creating an environment where performers can play. You can almost see the rehearsal room: somebody suggests something ridiculous, tries it, and the ideas that make him laugh… stay. Recurring sequences with Rich Tea biscuits had me chuckling, while the immortal declaration “I am Fog” may now live permanently in my brain. The jokes work because the production commits fully. Nobody apologises for the stupidity.

James Keningale and Kathryn Perkins as the Clowns attack the enormous supporting cast with extraordinary energy. Coats, moustaches and tartan blankets become entire people; hunched bodies and nonsensical Scottish accents somehow keep escalating without the joke exhausting itself. Each new character arrives with a fresh physical idea, and the joy comes from watching two actors hurtle towards caricature with no intention of applying the brakes. Every character is turned up to eleven. Occasionally twelve.

Theater scene: man in blue jacket holds a shocked woman in a plaid dress on his lap, under cool stage lighting and stone backdrop.

That only works because Ryan Starling gives the production a stable core. His Richard Hannay uses a completely different style of comedy; he is the increasingly desperate and dignified man surrounded by lunatics. If Hannay were performed with the same heightened caricature as everybody else, the production would be chaos. The secret to a great farce is somebody desperately trying to keep things under control, and Starling plays the situation seriously enough for the madness around him to become even funnier.

Sophie Bloor is great as Annabella and Pamela. Both women belong to the heightened world of the piece, but she resists turning either into another clown. Her characters are distinct enough to give Hannay something approaching a human relationship between explosions of silliness. Then there is Tom Mitchell, billed as the understudy but very much part of this five-person machine. I refuse to spoil his finest contributions, except to say his confetti-throwing stage management deserves all the recognition.

Jen McGinley’s design gives the company very little physical scenery: chairs, fabric and two large multi-purpose crates transform quickly enough that location changes become part of the joke. Chris Lancé’s video design does the geographical heavy lifting, projecting locations onto the large gauze and letting the company leap between places without dragging half of Scotland across the stage. The simplicity keeps our attention on the performers.

Two actors struggle on a smoky stage, one in a suit with arms raised as a dark-uniformed figure grabs him.

McCrystal’s background in physical comedy shows in the confidence with which he lets gags escalate, especially when the company leans into classic British sketch comedy. I genuinely cannot remember the last time a theatre production made my face hurt from smiling. The 39 Steps gave me slapstick, wordplay, character comedy, visual comedy and moments of absolute nonsense, all delivered by a company having an infectious amount of fun. Derby Theatre and Hull Truck Theatre have created something exceptional here.

I’ve already booked to see it again. I never do that. Apparently, there are considerably fewer than 39 steps between “this is ridiculous” and “I need another ticket.”

Oh, and if you’re coming from Ilkeston, be sure to paint your toenails.