Cherry Jezebel review

While Jonathan Larkin’s Cherry Jezebel is dedicated to the Liverpool-born transgender icon April Ashley, who provided the play’s original inspiration, it takes much of its story from the experience of Larkin’s friends – drag queens on the club scene – particularly Lady Seanne and Tracy Wilder.

The dialogue addresses complex issues while never standing on a soapbox. Cis, trans and non-binary characters who should be allies cross sword-sharp tongues over pronouns and gender identity.

In her flat atop the split-level set, a drag queen adds the finishing touches to her outfit, then appears in the nightclub below. She is Cherry Brandy, accepting the MerseyPride Icon Award. The speech that opens the play sets up a direct rapport with the audience and raises one of the central issues that the work aims to tackle. “We’re too busy fightin’ each other!,” says Cherry, and this theme of LGBTQ+ community in-fighting simmers under the surface of the entire text.

Cherry retires to the club toilets, where most of the first act is set. Here we meet her fellow performer and friend Heidi Handjob, a trans woman who is still saving up for her final gender reassignment surgery. The sniping between these two is the backbone of the piece, and they simultaneously attack and console each other in the way that only true friends ever could.

Into this scene comes Pearl Reckless. Young, impetuous and self-obsessed, Pearl is a non-binary performer who divides their time almost equally between managing their social-media profile on the phone and needling Cherry and Heidi. “Oh, she’s a they – and they’re a cunt,” they observe, underlining in one brief but crucial exchange the problem that the LGBTQ+ community sometimes still has in accepting itself. But the pettiness is soon put aside when Pearl reappears after being beaten up by a drug dealer.

In Cherry’s flat, where she has brought her recent conquest Mo (George Jones), Pearl goes from stealing Cherry’s thunder to stealing her man. The backstories of all three begin to unfold as they try to understand each other and here the play finds its heart. Mickey Jones’ Cherry is the archetype of the traditional lip-syncing drag queen, Mariah Louca’s Heidi oozes a sultry sass, and Stefan Race finds a perfect balance between Pearl’s bitchiness and fragility.

James Baker directs with razor-sharp timing and Ellie Light’s outstanding structural set morphs seamlessly between scenes. Cherry Jezebel dissects a culture from the inside out, using acid humour to temper the hard-hitting messages it carries. Yes, it does push boundaries in places, but there is no better way of tackling the issues it raises.