Sunrise For The Blind - The Cockpit

We enter a dimly lit, empty stage in the round, as is typical at The Cockpit. An electronic whirring and the distant ring of a corner-shop bell establishes an environment before the actors do: industrial, familiar and cold.

The first scene begins with two players, both clad in the recognisable streetwear of contemporary Britain. Think trackie shorts, loose T-shirts, silver chains, crossbody bags and caps. “She’s so fit” pipes up Nathan (Lee Lomas), as he stares wistfully off into one of the four corner voms of the stage. It is an immediate introduction to the world of the play: blunt, funny, sexually charged, and longing. What follows is a rapid fire duologue between Nathan and his friend Mark (Marcus Hodson) as the pair loiter outside the corner shop where Mark works. Their conversation ricochets between venereal disease, pubic hair and sexual gossip, delivered with the throwaway naturalism of two young men who have spent countless hours together. It is a strong beginning, establishing both character and voice with impressive economy, and there is certainly a sense that we are listening in rather than watching a performance- an impressive feat to accomplish in the opening minutes of any production.

Language is perhaps Lomas's greatest strength as a playwright. Indeed, the 80 minute production becomes something of a masterclass in all the possible iterations of “Alright?”, and how this one word can be just as loaded or meaningless in equal measure; how it can unify people across cultures, start a fight, or lead to a date. Details about corner shops- and whether they stock monster munch or space raiders, childhood insults and local habits are funny precisely because they feel lived-in. The specificity is what makes the comedy work. And sitting beside my partner, who is from Manchester, I was particularly aware of the way these linguistic and cultural details can function as reminders of home. There is warmth here, even when the world being depicted is anything but warm. But the comedy is frequently undercut by something much darker. Sexism and misogyny are embedded deeply within the play, first emerging through the opening conversation between Nathan and Mark, in which women are immediately sexualised and judged. By the time we meet the women being discussed, it becomes clear how deeply these attitudes have been internalised by the female characters- namely Becky, or “Becky the bike”, Ashley “she’s so fit” Ashley, Sandra (Ashley’s mum) and Leena (owner of the corner shop). Hollie Burgess is particularly affecting as Becky, bringing an anxious awkwardness to the character while retaining a fierce capacity for self-advocacy. Her later monologue, in which she breaks down over the way she is treated — “nobody wants to know me” — is genuinely heartbreaking. Over the course of the production, her performance becomes increasingly assured as Becky begins to assert greater control over her own future. Marcus Hodson is similarly compelling as Mark, combining charisma with a protective tenderness that makes him one of the production's most immediately likeable figures.

Lomas's performance as Nathan is strongest when the character's bravado falls away- particularly towards the end of the production. Without an audience of his peers to impress, the peacock has finally stopped displaying. The contrast between his public persona and the more thoughtful person underneath becomes one of the play's more effective observations about masculinity. Overall, the characters in Sunrise for the Blind are far from perfect, and the production seems interested in precisely that imperfection. The players are rarely presented as straightforward heroes or villains, with the possible exception of Johnny (Lawrence Carmichael), tokenistically dubbed ‘Johnny the Bastard’, who serves as a representation of disenfranchised, middle-aged, working-class men in the North. The characters are flawed, sometimes ignorant, and often deeply unpleasant, but the play asks whether people who have inherited prejudices can recognise them, confront them, and do better. There are some excellent exchanges around everyday racism, particularly from Leena, played by Tanu Ravi, who brings real truth to the role, beautifully combining outward stoicism and resilience with inner vulnerability as a mother in turmoil. “Do you have Corrie? Like an equivalent?” Sandra asks Leena, whilst she waits for Mark to fetch her a pack of cigarettes, “What, in case we don’t understand the language?” Leena responds. These moments work because the prejudice is not always presented as spectacular or consciously malicious; it is embedded in the apparently harmless business of “just making conversation.” However, whilst the production raises difficult questions about how people change, it is perhaps less certain about what meaningful change might actually look like. This uncertainty becomes more significant because of the play's wider portrait of Manchester. Having initially been drawn to Sunrise for the Blind because of its thematic similarities to This Is England—particularly its interest in class, disenfranchisement, racism and masculinity—I found myself wishing for some of the complexity that gives that work its power. The connection is clear. But where This Is England finds moments of community amid its ugliness, Sunrise for the Blind often seems reluctant to look beyond the ugliness itself. And this is perhaps my greatest reservation with the production.

There is a version of Manchester represented here in which the future appears almost entirely inaccessible. The city becomes a place of damp houses, poverty, racism and resentment, populated by people whose only route to opportunity is escape. Mark's description of his home is particularly stark: “My house smells like damp and food and smoke and shit and babies.” It is an evocative line, but it also encapsulates the production's broader worldview, and I often found myself wondering how truly representative this Manchester is. My own response was particularly shaped by sitting alongside someone from the city whose experience of working-class Manchester is not defined solely by deprivation, but also by self preservation, ambition, community and the belief that a future can be created rather than merely escaped into. There is a particularly pointed rant about Southerners moving to Manchester for university, arriving with the financial safety net of the “bank of mum and dad” and romanticising the city as somewhere cool, authentic and full of “vibes”. It is an understandable target, and one that clearly comes from lived frustration. But the irony is that Sunrise for the Blind can sometimes appear to romanticise its own version of Manchester in much the same way — only through deprivation rather than gentrification. That matters because the production's politics are strongest when they acknowledge the possibility of change. Its characters may be flawed, prejudiced and angry, but there are glimpses throughout of people capable of kindness, self-reflection and growth. Those moments suggest a more complicated and hopeful play waiting to emerge. Unfortunately however, Sunrise instills a greater sense of trauma and rage, rather than resolution or optimism. That is, of course, a legitimate artistic choice. Theatre does not owe its audience hope. But I found myself wishing the production had allowed greater space for the communities it depicts to be more than the sum of their wounds.

At its best, Sunrise for the Blind is incisive, heartfelt, and vividly executed, with strong acting across the board. Lomas has a clear and distinctive theatrical voice, and the cast commit wholeheartedly to its naturalism- save for one questionable Scouse/ Mancunian accent. But the production's greatest strength is also, ultimately, its limitation. It knows the world it wants to portray intimately, yet its vision of that world feels frustratingly narrow. Manchester can be a place of resentment, scarcity and division. It can also be a place of extraordinary community, culture, humour, ambition and possibility. Sunrise for the Blind captures the former with considerable force. I only wish it had looked a little harder for the latter.

Mim from the bar

Mim Harrild

Mim works behind our bar, but is also a brilliant musician, actor and creative.
Fun Fact: Mim has been in two productions on our stage. She was in the cast of The Threepenny Opera  - for which she received an Offie nomination, and she played Goldilocks in our family show Fairytale On Church Street.

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SUNRISE FOR THE BLIND played at The Cockpit as part of Camden Fringe 
Produced by The Sunrise Collective

@sunrisefortheblindplay