THEATRE Review
2024
THE FLEA
YARD THEATRE
★★★★★
Writer. James Fritz
Dir. Jay Miller
9 OCTOBER - 30 NOVEMBER 2024
all images © Marc Brenner
30 October, 2024
Indulge me for a moment.
It’s the morning after The Flea’s press night at the Yard Theatre, and I’m walking through Fitzrovia. There's something calming about being in Central London this early; the city is quiet but not silent. I turn onto Rathbone St. and walk towards the Duke of York, a pub that’s been there since the late 18th century. I walk through Charlotte Place, a side street with shops, restaurants, and flats facing each other, offering little privacy, and turn left onto Goodge St. As I get closer to Fitzroy Place on this cold winter morning, I see a street sign that reads Cleveland St., and I stop at No. 19. I am in disbelief to discover Cleveland St. has been right in front of me all this time. Part of me can’t help but feel the imagined spirits of the men and boys who turned this residential area into one of the biggest scandals of Victorian London.
Fitzrovia is Soho’s discreet, classier cousin. Cleveland St. leads towards Fitzroy Square. Its side streets and mews are hidden and act like arteries, and it is impressive how many original buildings from the 18th and 19th centuries still remain. Facing No. 19 is No. 22, one of five townhouses that date back to the early 19th century that claims Charles Dickens as a former resident in 1815-16. And around the corner, abolitionist Olaudah Equiano, author of the best-selling autobiography The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, lived around the corner at 37 Tottenham St. in 1788. The Dickens house looks directly across the street at No. 19, and standing there I am fascinated by what the inhabitants at No. 22 thought about all the activity going on across the street. This seems like a strange location for a male brothel; it offers privacy to some extent, but the area was heavily residential. It sounds like an unlikely story, and at times it’s utterly unbelievable and shocking, but its truth serves as the inspiration for James Fritz’s The Flea.
1889 London: fifteen-year-old Charlie Swinscow (Tomás Azocar-Nevin) steps up to become the man of the house and support his mother, Emily (Breffni Holahan), after a tragedy takes his father's life. Through a friend, Henry Newlove (Stefan Race) Charlie gets a job as a telegraph boy for the London Central Telegram Office. And he's been able to provide well for his mother, even if at times Emily becomes curious about where the money is coming from. One day at work, Charlie is suspected of theft when 14 shillings are discovered in his possession, and faced with the prospect of going to jail, Charlie informs PC Luke Hanks (Aaron Gill) where the money came from; he confesses to being part of a male brothel. Emily, now trying to free her son, goes as far as to petition her local MP, but a detective, Frederick Abberline (Will Bliss), sore after being forced to retire after his handling of the Jack the Ripper case, gets word of the scandal. And aided by PC Hanks, he assures Emily that he’ll do all he can to protect Charlie and save him from prison. As they dig deeper into the Cleveland St. brothel, they discover this isn’t your average brothel; it counted the Earl of Euston (Gill), Lord Arthur Somerset (Race), equerry to the Prince of Wales, as clients. Moreover, they’re informed that Prince Albert Victor, son of the Prince of Wales (Azocar-Nevin) and grandson of Queen Victoria (Holahan), was also a client. As Abberline and Hanks get closer to bringing their case to a conclusion, the machinations of the establishment begin to thwart their efforts, leading to a conclusion of heartbreak, distrust, and irreparably broken trusts.
Heading to The Yard Theatre, I was curious but not curious enough to break my no-info rule about seeing a new show. Walking into the space, you’re confronted by Naomi Kuyck-Cohen’s bold, miniature set with its richness of colour. This is accentuated by LAMBDOG1066’s original costumes and aided by Dominique Hamilton’s hair and make-up, which captures the playfulness of Victorian life and style, giving the impression of a dollhouse. The opening scene, which sees the cast of 5, who play 12 characters, zip in and out of the wings, offers the tiniest insight into what The Flea is going to deliver.
The Flea isn’t just a play about a long-lost piece of British gay history; it’s touchingly deeper. It’s a play about love, connection, and betrayal. It’s about how easy it is for all areas of our social, personal, and political lives to be governed by a tiny minority who see their own interests above all else. It’s about how deep the rot of corruption, control, and fear is. Ultimately, The Flea is a tragedy that, through its carefully crafted text, shows how hope can be taken away from those clinging to its very embers. In societies that have such tightly guarded controls on social norms, hope is the only thing society can cling to; it is what drives societies; hope gives life, and when we’re faced with a reality without hope, we become lost.
During the pandemic I started a new strand of interviews that sought out LGBTQ+ stories, and it was during one of these interviews that I discovered Glenn Chandler’s The Sins of Jack Saul. His biography of Jack Saul, the Dublin-born Victorian prostitute who was connected to the Cleveland Street Scandal. I was surprised that such a salient piece of Gay British history wasn’t more well known. A male brothel in Fitzrovia, a trial, accusations flying all over the place that included the Prince of Wales son and a flurry of other named persons—how is this not bigger? Perhaps it’s the lack of saved evidence, documents, and recorded history (even though there was a trial) that makes this scandal extra juicy. Perhaps Oscar Wilde’s infamous trial in 1895 conveniently buried the Cleveland Street Scandal, allowing all those involved to let sleeping dogs lie.
Fritz's exploration of the scandal has allowed him to latch onto the stir it caused in Victorian society, but his text goes a lot further than noblemen and their predilections; through Charlie and eighteen-year-old Henry, he puts a long-needed focus on the telegraph boys themselves. Charlie and Henry were real people and played a vital role in the Cleveland Street Scandal and how it was exposed; yet, due to Charlie and Henry's social position, their story has become historically redacted. It was well known that telegraph boys had a “reputation” for prostitution; this is highlighted by Henry, who uses his position to recruit other boys from within the office. The Victorians where an odd lot. History tends to judge them as being prudes but the reality is they where anything but, their vices ran the gamut, aided by the industrial revolution, exploitation of the colonies, and the classic Victorian explorer. And yet somewhere along the way, the Victorians managed to whitewash how future generations would see them.
Rather than focus on these Victorian vices Fritz offers an alternative perspective of Cleveland Street; in this view, the brothel becomes a place that offers some solace for these men. He doesn’t try to judge or demonise them, and through Euston he highlights something special: that this is also a story about wanting to love and be loved. Euston is in love with a boy called William, a prostitute he’s met at Cleveland St. In his conversations with Somerset, he talks about some letters he’s been writing to William; one feels this caring, emotional connection between them, a connection that had no chance of life. But Euston’s longing is hopeful. Euston and Somerset had much more to lose in a society that was governed by such tightly guarded social morals. This unseen relationship between Euston and William changes the understanding of Cleveland St. and turns it into something of a refuge. In the second act, as Euston is threatened by the Prince of Wales, who offers to save him from himself, there is no scene that more acutely illustrates Euston’s feelings towards William. Euston's 'Please' is delivered with such heartbreaking honesty by Gill that one feels how completely desolate Euston has become in this moment.
In each of their scenes as Euston and Somerset, both Gill and Race have a palpable tension, and though Gill allows Euston some much-needed calmness, Race gives an edge to Somerset that one never fully trusts. Their moments are filled with fun, humour, and an openness that is refreshing. We feel for them because we understand what they’re living through. This is one of the strengths of Fritz’s writing: he forges these connections between his characters that are genuine and is aided by the cast. We see these connections through other pairs of characters: Abberline and Hanks, Charlie and Henry, Charlie and his mother, the Prince of Wales and Euston, and Victoria and the Prince of Wales. These pairings allow for greater clarity between the characters, allowing their stories to come through. This isn’t an easy task for any of the cast. Each character they play is a polar opposite. Holahan’s Emily Swinscow is presented as a mother who truly loves her son, but her Queen Victoria is a woman who is exhausted by hers. With Race as Henry, he’s cocksure and emotionally confused, but as Somerset, he’s afraid, arrogant, and scheming. All the conversations between Somerset and Euston are allowed to take their time and provide an insight into their personal relationship. Fritz continues this through the professional relationship between Abberline and Hanks and ultimately between Emily and Charlie, which are wonderfully touching and filled with an understated, gentle honesty.
Midway through Act One, something piqued my interest: Detective Abberline's involvement. Abberline was nearly ruined by his handling of the Jack the Ripper case; it's a little too convenient that he would be involved in two Victorian scandals. Moreover, Prince Albert Victor, rumoured to have been involved in the Cleveland Street Scandal, has also been linked to the Jack the Ripper case. I know you’re reading this thinking I’ve lost my mind. With so little existing about the Cleveland Street Scandal, one can’t help but go down a few rabbit holes in exploring this history, and this is where Abberline plays an essential role. Two scandals that riveted British society, and Prince Albert Victor seems to be in the centre of both. I am not trying to open up new conspiracies around Jack the Ripper, but the connection shouldn’t be ignored. Prince Albert Victor had issues; just what they were and how much is public record is up for debate, and he would die aged 28 in 1892 with the scandal already losing public interest. Fritz never makes this Ripper connection explicit; rather, he eloquently lays bare the facts of the establishment's willingness to be party to a cover-up.
"Fritz gives his audience a different perspective of the Cleveland Street Scandal. He’s written a play that adds greatly to the canon of undocumented gay and queer histories that are all around us and goes further to poetically illustrate another side of this scandal, the telegraph boys."
He achieves this through two conversations in the second act, first between Victoria and the Prince of Wales and then between God and Victoria. The symbolism of power and position is wonderfully realised once again by Kuyck-Cohen’s staging, where Victoria is placed high above the stage, towering over a diminutive Prince of Wales. Every scene, it seems, becomes a scene of bartering, one back being scratched by someone, favours granted in exchange for complicity. Victoria believes that it is her duty to leave Prince Albert Victor to his fate and that she’s afraid that when [her] time comes she will be damned. Her decision is final, on the surface at least, and she’s going to hold Prince Albert Victor accountable for his actions. This changes when Victoria has an audience with God, and though still headstrong in her determination not to protect Prince Albert Victor, God tells her she could be …cursed to be the last of your line, the final Queen of Britain, the one who lost it all. God, much like the Ghost of Christmases Past and Present, provides the old Queen with a glimpse of the reality awaiting her if she doesn’t ‘protect’ Prince Albert Victor.
It’s an interesting scene and one that clears up any doubt one might have about whether or not the British Royal Family would see their self-preservation trump a moral, legal, or social duty. The British royal family are born survivors, and they are also deeply concerned about the cultural and social position they hold. Prince Albert Victor being outed as being a patron of a male brothel wouldn’t have certainly broken the public's trust and faith in the British monarchy. Looking at some royal histories, like Prince John or Nerissa & Katherine Bowes-Lyon, cousins of Queen Elizabeth II, you see a pattern of how brutal and merciless they can be. Any deviation from the purity of that family's bloodline is protected at any cost.
Fritz gives his audience a different perspective of the Cleveland Street Scandal. He’s written a play that adds greatly to the canon of undocumented gay and queer histories that are all around us and goes further to poetically illustrate another side of this scandal, the telegraph boys. When looking back at this period in history, society only really values the notable names, the Earls or Princes who may or may not have been caught up in a scandal, and the others, namely the poor, get sidelined and ignored.
As we are introduced to Eliza and Charlie, we see a small family living hand to mouth, trying all they can to stay out of the poorhouse. from the moment we meet them, we feel the harshness of what this life was like for poor Victorians. If the start was about the deep love and care a mother had for her son, then the ending is about her pain and regret. When we see Charlie one last time, standing in front of his mother, he looks different; the experience he’s been through has changed him greatly. Azocar-Nevin eyes as he looks at Holahan are filled with unspoken truths that he has to suppress. Azocar-Nevin eyes sparkle with tears he’s not willing to allow role down his face and he never takes his eyes off Holahan. In his young life, Charlie faced a great deal of betrayal: Newlove, Amberline, and his mother. And the pain he now feels is greater than the greatest of pain. Holahan and Azocar-Nevin take their time in this final scene. We don't know much about what happened to Charlie, but every word spoken between Holahan and Azocar-Nevin comes from a place of insight, care, and compassion.
It is rare for a piece of theatre to connect the way The Flea does. Its power comes from this intriguing, and at times incredibly touching, story of love and loss, fear, and control. The LGBTQ+ community, who would have to wait nearly 100 years to be allowed to be who they wanted to be. Fritz allows his audience to understand both boys and men in this scandal and never tries to solicit sympathy or judgment but rather empathy for these long-departed souls, giving a genuine sense of the road the community has traversed for their freedom and for love. This scandal, and Wilde’s trial and imprisonment a few years later, offers some additional insight into how homosexuals would become easy fodder for societies that saw men who loved men as abnormal, instilling a fear in them that would last generations.
Satire is hard to pull off in modern theatre; add farce, emotion, and historical drama to the mix, and what you have is a cocktail that shouldn’t work, and yet here it does. Jay Miller’s commitment to Fritz’s text is inspired, and this is evident in how his cast has connected to the piece. Their chemistry is a masterclass in theatre acting; they each have been provided with multiple, complex characters and skilfully ensure everyone is fully forged. The magic here is how much they convince you you're seeing more than what you are. You never see Hanks or Euston as the same person, or Somerset and Henry, etc. Few companies have had such an impact on a piece of theatre the way this one has. It’s a testament to the text, their direction, and their ability to see the humanity in these characters and bring out their truths.
This is carried through with Josh Anio Grigg’s sound and Kuyck-Cohen’s set. When Abberline is interrogating Henry, he starts to explain what could await him in prison, the shot drill; Grigg’s soundscape is brilliantly effective, adding a cold reality to the scene. Later in the final scene, as Emily takes hold of a bowl and is about to serve Charlie when Holahan lifts the ladle, a transparent cloud of steam rises up from the soup. The care to this detail is massively impactful, as right here one can't help but really feel so much for Emily, and you imagine her spending all morning putting this soup together for her son’s visit.
Some might arrive at the view that Cleveland St. was just a house of ill repute; others might view it as one of the first gay communities, a safe space for men to explore their love and to build connections, even if they exploited and were exploited in the process. The Flea's ending isn’t just bittersweet; it is heartbreaking. In its final scene, which emotionally captures the essence of Fritz's text, you dare not breathe for fear of creating noise that may distract you from it. Fritz leaves us with this idea that Eliza may have to perpetually live this moment of her history, a choice she made that changed her and Charlie's lives forever.