Till The Stars Come Down

Beth Steel’s Till The Stars Come Down is nothing short of a theatrical detonation—explosive in its emotion, incisive in its politics, and utterly absorbing in its execution. In the hands of director Bijan Sheibani, this already potent script becomes a jagged, hilarious, and devastating portrait of a family teetering on multiple brinks: of a breakdown, of a breakthrough, and of a country losing its grip on itself.

Set over the course of a single tumultuous wedding day in a working-class Mansfield household, the play centres on Sylvia (played with endearing brittleness by Sinéad Matthews), the youngest of three sisters, whose marriage to Polish-born Marek (Julian Kostov, disarmingly understated) is meant to be a celebration—but rapidly unravels into a maelstrom of suppressed tension and raw family history. Sylvia’s sisters - fiery, quick-tongued Maggie (Aisling Loftus, in a standout performance that crackles with rage and vulnerability) and long-suffering Hazel (the superb Lucy Black) - each carry their own quiet burdens and festering resentments. Dorothy Atkinson perfectly combines high drama and pure comedy as their Aunty Carol while Adrian Bower is the standout turn as Hazel's husband John. a boiling cauldron of resentment and lust.

Steel, whose previous work (Wonderland, The House of Shades) has always combined muscular political insight with razor-sharp humanity, reaches a new peak here. Her ability to weave the toxic aftermath of Brexit into the very fabric of this family wedding is nothing short of masterful. This isn’t overtly a Brexit play; rather, it’s a play about identity, belonging, and fracture but the referendum’s long shadow is cast across every relationship. Old resentments and national anxieties bleed into each other until they’re indistinguishable, capturing the quiet corrosion of a nation in freefall.

Sheibani’s direction keeps the action taut and emotionally combustible. There’s an immediacy to every interaction, a sense that the lid could blow off at any moment. He’s helped immeasurably by Samal Blak’s inspired set design, which transforms the stage into a kitchen-diner that, by wrapping the audience around it, feels almost "in the round" in its intimacy. We are placed uncomfortably close, not just watching but bearing witness—trapped in the stifling heat of the family’s dysfunction. It’s an elegant metaphor for a nation that no longer knows where the exits are.

Much of the play’s power lies in its fast, funny and furious dialogue and delivered with unrelenting authenticity by a pitch-perfect ensemble. The thick Mansfield accents, coached by dialect wizard Hazel Holder, aren’t just flavour: they’re a statement of place, pride, and pain. Every line from Matthews' nervy bride or Atkinson's battle-worn matriarch lands like a punch or a plea. Steel’s characters speak the way people really speak, but smarter, sharper, and with an emotional charge that leaves the audience breathless.

Paule Constable’s lighting design subtly underscores the tonal shifts, going from daylight cheer to evening chaos, while Garethy Fry’s sound design adds a subliminal thrum of unease, especially during the play’s most claustrophobic moments. The wedding day may begin in celebration, but this is no romantic comedy. It’s a ticking clock, a pressure cooker, a requiem for stability either domestic or national.

By the time the stars metaphorically come down, Steel has done something astonishing: taken the most British of genres—the kitchen sink drama—and infused it with cosmic significance. This is a play about a family, yes, but it’s also about a whole people staring into the abyss and wondering how they got there.

In Till The Stars Come Down, every creative department is firing on all cylinders. Together, they’ve given us a production that is rich, riveting, and ruthlessly honest. Beth Steel may have written it, but this is a constellation of talent—and British theatre is all the brighter for it.

Till The Stars Come Down continues until 27 September


Photo credit: Manuel Harlan