“Set in 1970s Britain during a period of Tory cuts, high unemployment, and increasing inequality, focusing on the hunt for the anarchist group "The Angry Brigade" by a special police squad. The play juxtaposes the contrasting perspectives of the establishment and the young urban guerrillas, exploring themes of political engagement, rebellion, and the human cost of pursuing a radical vision for a fairer world.”

Despite its weighty subject, The Angry Brigade, written by James Graham and reimagined by Oliver Hurst, succeeds by embracing the politics of absurdity brought to life by a tightly choreographed ensemble and a set of assured directorial choices. Co-produced by HER Productions and Up 'Ere Productions, the show tracks the intersecting lives of the investigating police on the one hand and the true radicals at the heart of the story on the other.

Dynamic, bold, and perfectly in sync, a powerhouse cast of four take on multiple roles with remarkable ease, shifting seamlessly between settings. Through sharp character work, fluid transitions, and precise comic timing, they create two distinct yet interconnected worlds. In doing so, they navigate the play's absurd political landscape in a way at once believable, compelling, and thoroughly entertaining.

From its opening moments in the basement of Scotland Yard, the production establishes a tone that is unmistakably British: dry, understated, and deeply funny. A detective sergeant reminiscent of John Cleese (Tom Oliver) peppers discussions of terrorism with observations about tea etiquette and London buses, turning the context of political emergency into workplace comedy. His claim that dunking biscuits is his “little rebellion in a teacup”, is precisely the kind of humour that allows us to really understand the collision between national crisis and workplace routine. The play opens not with spectacle, but with double edged observations; revealing the mundanity of humour alongside the humour of the mundane in a way that works to position extremism not as an alien pathology but as an extension of ordinary dissatisfaction.

Perhaps the production's sharpest satirical thread is its treatment of institutional sexism, evident from the outset through the experiences of the play's ‘woman police officers’. Constable Henderson (Frankie Lipman) first appears on stage only to be summoned back for a spoon and dispatched again with a tea set. Likewise, the forensic scientist, played by Hannah Ellis Ryan, delivers expert analysis of bomb fragments before being relegated to carrying the tea caddy. Ryan's wry delivery and perfectly judged facial reactions make these moments some of the production's strongest comic beats, exposing the gendered assumptions embedded within the institution.

Commendably, the show avoids simple caricature. Detective Sergeant Smith, played with commanding warmth by John O'Neill, provides a nuanced counterpoint. Through his matter-of-fact observations—most notably, "I happen to press my own shirts"—he gently challenges assumptions about masculinity and domestic labour. O'Neill gives the character a reassuring moral steadiness tempered by moments of uncertainty, making him both believable and deeply relatable. In doing so, Smith becomes a vehicle through which the play interrogates ideas of morality, liberation, and prejudice, encouraging the audience to question their own assumptions rather than settle into easy judgments.

While every performer demonstrates impressive versatility, Tom Oliver is the standout when it comes to comic flair. Multi-roling at least six characters, he switches between them so seamlessly that the succession becomes the gag in itself. A particular highlight for me was his portrayal of a Biba department store assistant caught up in an Angry Brigade bombing and later questioned by police. Suffice to say, when asked if he was “okay”, he very much was not. Oliver’s gift for observational comedy allows the production to balance humour and unease, ensuring that political violence remains present without ever overwhelming the play's comic energy. That fine balance is reinforced by Hurst's assured pacing. Rapid-fire exchanges create the rhythm of a classic 1980s sitcom, while moments of genuine danger emerge almost unnoticed.

One of the production's most effective sequences sees Constable Parker (Hannah Ellis Ryan) sitting silently at her desk holding a suspected bomb, while the rest of the squad become absorbed in an increasingly comic discussion about telephone etiquette. A recurring fixation on Irish terrorism is established as a running joke as well as one of the play’s sharpest critiques of institutional prejudice. The humour is uncomfortable by design, exposing how readily institutions fall back on familiar scapegoats. As one detective admits, “Terrorists are driven by an idea, and I do not know how to catch an idea.” It’s a line that cuts to the heart of the play: the state can police people, but not the conditions that produce radicalism.

The production also explores themes of urban entrapment and identity. As one character observes, "We are caged in by our city." Under Hurst's direction, London becomes both setting and metaphorical prison, trapping police and anarchists alike within systems larger than themselves. This sense of confinement is reinforced through a recurring and well placed sound motif of heavy footsteps overhead, constantly reminding us of the oppressive world above as the Special Branch work underground. This effect extends beyond the characters and actually places us as an audience under the same ever-present weight of the system. The parallel between hunter and hunted develops beautifully through the evolving relationship between the police and the radicals they pursue. A particularly effective sequence sees DS Smith encouraging his officers to sit differently in their chairs to better understand anarchist thinking. What begins as a comic exercise gradually reveals deeper frustrations and desires. When PC Henderson remarks, “It feels new, like anything is possible," the scene shifts from parody to something unexpectedly sincere, exposing the emotional stagnation hidden beneath professional routine, and the beginning of a budding, forbidden romance between Smith and Henderson.

As the play moves into its second half, those boundaries begin to collapse entirely. In a brilliantly staged, punk-fuelled undercover "orgy" in the Scotland Yard basement, the officers attempt to immerse themselves in the world of the radicals. Ties loosen, formalities disappear, cannabis is smoked, and chaos steadily takes hold. The sequence satirises the repressed desires lurking beneath institutional respectability, with the cast committing wholeheartedly to the unblushing absurdity. Unsurprisingly, some of the biggest laughs come courtesy of Tom Oliver—this time in a memorable pair of Union Jack boxer shorts.

The second half turns its attention to the anarchists themselves, enabling the ensemble to examine the vulnerabilities, contradictions, and loneliness at the heart of their politics. Through partly dreamlike sequences, rendered in hyperrealistic staging and lighting, Hurst constructs a montage of satirised archetypes that present ideology as messy, performative, and fraught with uncertainty. Here in the heart of absurdity, Hurst frames the radicals not as monsters, but as alienated products of their environment, struggling to understand both the world and themselves. Frankie Lipman really shines here, utterly compelling as Anna Mendelssohn, capturing both the excitement of political conviction and the personal fragility that lies beneath it. Anna initially throws herself into radical action with excitement and certainty, determined to tear down walls both literal and figurative. But once she is in too deep, she spends much of the latter half trying to rebuild what she has destroyed- with the apt literal metaphor of the bohemian squat without walls. Lipman makes Anna’s fragility and inner conflict painfully clear, grounding the production's broader political arguments in something recognisably, and heartbreakingly human.

What ultimately makes this iteration of The Angry Brigade so effective is the way its technical and creative choices reinforce its central ideas. The ensemble's exceptional complicité, fluid multi rolling, carefully controlled pacing, and Hurst's use of comedy as both entertainment and critique ensure that the play never settles into easy binaries. The anarchists are dangerous, but the state is compromised. The police are prejudiced, yet emotionally vulnerable. Comedy provides relief while simultaneously exposing institutional decay. By embedding political critique within farce, the production achieves something remarkably sophisticated. It demonstrates how extremism, repression, loneliness, bureaucracy, and even romance can emerge from the same social conditions. Rather than presenting a simple opposition between authority and rebellion, it reveals a world in which police and radicals are often driven by similar frustrations and insecurities.

The result is a production that is consistently funny, sharply observed, and politically incisive. With a cast this talented, The Angry Brigade has the energy, wit, and inventiveness to rival productions such as Operation Mincemeat. I was genuinely disappointed to learn that this was its final outing for now following a successful northern tour. Keep an eye out for this company—if this production is anything to go by, they have an exciting future ahead of them.

Mim from the bar