Four friends, played by Noah Thomas, Prince Kundai, Romeo Mika and Tyler Orphé-Bakerat are at a bus stop in anticipation of a night out. It’s cold, and the young men are idling away the time with one another in pre night out banter – chicken wings, jokes and jostling. This is the perfect setting for Emmanuel Akwafo’s play Limp Wrist & The Iron Fist, a play about love, sexuality, faith which returns to Brixton House after debuting at the Housemates Festival in 2024.
In a compact 1 hour 15 minutes Akwafo’s play covers a lot of ground, establishing quickly a tight knit friendship between these four friends, their physical journey providing the scaffolding for their personal journeys to unfold. There’s actual scaffolding too, the key prop in the smaller of the theatre’s spaces. central to remodelling this space from street scene, to bus, to the club and back again.
The play is full of funny happenings and jokes given Akwafo’s comedic work in For Black Boys and more recently a Midsummer Night’s Dream, but the play does not pull its punches on the dramatic storytelling. There was frequent, full, from the chest laughter from the audience, with whom every joke landed, as the interactions provided the comedic relief as the heavier reflections unfolded.
Each character took their turn in the spotlight to share their experiences, at length, and there was poetry and power in these reflections. Early on I felt the tension brewing between Monday, the darkest of the four men and Nathaniel, the lightest and this builds throughout. A reckoning was surely coming. Monday, seems to have an issue with Nathaniel, pointedly digging at him at every opportunity.
The explosion that eventually comes explores two different perspectives on black identity. Kudai’s Monday delivers one of the most powerful of the play’s speeches, unearthing this simmering disconnect and resentment towards his friend, which we come to see is less about his friend and more about how society sees him, and them as black men. Kundai beautifully peels away the layers of this seemingly hard-edged without reason exterior to share why his is the way he is, shaped through his father’s teachings. His father referred to him as ‘brown sugar’ not, as he explains, lovingly. Not as an expression of something beautiful.
It was blackness as granular, as clumpy, as impossible to dissolve, as different. His ‘problem’ with Nathaniel? His belief that his friend’s light skin protects him from harm, where his black skin does not, it signifies risk to society. It frames how he moves in the world and how the world moves in response to him. He must always be on his guard. He is not safe. This line stuck with me “I haven’t even lived yet, and I already know how to die properly” A gut punch. Someone in the audience groaned in recognition.
To Thomas’ Nathaniel, it wasn’t a competition. Who best embodies blackness. At once a mixed-race man and a black man, he is seeking to be understood and accepted, whilst often feeling a step behind the beat on either side of the fence. We don’t see this explored often on stage. What it means to be black, who gets to be black and who does not, and how this places out in the intimate dynamics of friendships, and this was powerful.
This resonated. As Nathaniel explained, regardless of how he sees himself, regardless of the light shade of his skin, to society he is black and treated as such. His and Monday’s experiences are more similar than they are different. In my mind I was imploring Monday to understand this.Directed by Nathaniel Campbell, this story is a celebration of the black queer identity in all its variation. More in look, in the use of lighting, in the mode of storytelling, albeit there is an intimacy to his play that makes its expression earnest, bold and impactful in a different, unique way. It is layered.
Annie- Lunnette Deakin-Foster’s incorporation of dance and movement throughout, underscored the narrative, providing connective tissue, also giving time to share in these solo and group moments of joy. Through the whacking on the imagined catwalk, or bodies wrapped around scaffolding poles, ‘catching a wine’, and the gentle fading in and out of music, transitions were eased, balance was found.
The exploration of identity; what makes it, what threatens it and what protects it- is central to the play. I was left with was an unashamed and ultimately joyous exploration of black queer identity, which never leant too hard on stereotypes, and highlighted the fundamental lifeline that is friendship and community.
NEED TO KNOW:
- Limp Wrist & The Iron Fist is on at Brixton House Theatre until 29 Nov. See listing.
- Tickets: From £10
- Recommended age: 15+
- Duration: 1 hour 15 mins
