Jonathan Harvey’s play takes its name from the observation by Peter Tatchell that gay people are "the litmus test of whether a society respects human rights. We’re the canaries in the mine."
Harvey examines the experiences of gay men in Britain over nearly 50 years, moving between the present and a past that seems archaic and raw. He reminds us that until recently gay Britons were tormented by moralists, and that, while modern gay youth can be recklessly hedonistic, that’s not to say casual homophobia has gone away.
We open with Mary Whitehouse launching the Festival of Light, her crusade against permissiveness. Whitehouse is impersonated in a flamboyantly crowd-pleasing fashion, and at the start of the second half she returns to preside over a raucuous rampage through the audience, which involves nuns, the Ku Klux Klan and a jauntily brandished courgette.
This is Harvey at his most joyously subversive, but the larger action of the play resembles a psychedelic history lesson. It takes in the first crucifying impact of Aids, the miners’ strike, the rise of gay activism, and the argument between Margaret Thatcher and Norman Fowler about how best to promote safe sex. We’re also reminded that gay men were once forced to undergo aversion therapy ("just like a visit to the dentist"), which Harvey depicts unflinchingly.
Most of the cast are required to shift smartly between multiple roles, making nuanced characterisation difficult. Good work comes from Ben Allen and Ryan Sampson, and Philip Voss proves impressively versatile, but it’s Kevin Trainor who impresses above all, a touching study in the effects of persecution.
Canary frequently echoes Angels in America, Tony Kushner’s searching and combustibly theatrical portrait of the gay community’s confrontation with Aids. Harvey’s writing has Kushner’s poetic and fantastic qualities, at times veering into hallucinatory weirdness. In Hettie Macdonald’s nicely paced production there are some exquisite touches. But there are also traces of bombast, not helped by a sound design that’s part Les Misérables, part Cecil B. DeMille.
This is camp and brash and brave theatre, far from perfect yet defiant and passionate. It would be easy to convict it of cliché — there’s even the obligatory Aids-induced deathbed scene — but the grand sweep of Harvey’s vision is compelling.
Canary
Hampstead Theatre
Eton Avenue, Swiss Cottage, NW3 3EU
