He’s Dead review

When a production aims to explore the interconnectedness of mental health and Blackness, it leaves itself with a lot to cover. It can often be a fragmented experience, with various competing ideas not given enough space and time on stage. I was, therefore, quite excited by the specificity of Marikiscrycrycry’s (alias of Malik Nashad Sharpe) new work He’s Dead. 

The piece is centred on one question: Was Tupac depressed? A significant moment comes and goes abruptly. Designed by Zeinab Saleh, flags of Tupac’s face on a background of flames are flown as a larger banner is draped on the back wall. The 1990s rapper is uncovered like a sigil or coat of arms, passed down Hip-Hop generations and inherited by Marikiscrycrycry and their cast. It’s stunning, a celebration and a mourning of the artist. But no sooner is the banner yanked down and laid to rest off-stage.  

The specificity of the piece soon falls apart. Instead, it plays like a collection of vignettes exploring ideas stemming from the overarching theme. Four figures emerge like defiant rockstars, beautifully styled by Mia Maxwell in emo and Afro-punk aesthetics – thick chokers, mesh, chains, baggy clothes. They pulsate, strut and sit on thrones. Black dances spanning the 90s to the present day (nae nae, the woah, superman) are skillfully executed by Marikiscrycrycry and Blue Makwana in their duet. Makwana is commanding in the particular – grooves, deep squat thrusts and flicks are effortlessly displayed.  

The other performers feel forgotten. Eve Stainton and Alexander Love are either left in the background with inconsequential roles or stand out for their awkward execution of the choreography. Love gets a moment as Marikiscrycrycry’s sparring partner, who treats him as a punching bag as rock music with the lyrics ‘you better run for your life’ repeats. He’s promptly vanquished and laid bare on the ground. It’s a pointed scene, especially post-George Floyd, but felt too much like mime. 

Then out of nowhere, Marikiscrycrycry belts out harrowing notes over the cast who lay lifeless. The notes turn into a loop of lyrics expressing suicidal thoughts (Tupac lyrics repurposed), and it sounds beautiful in tone. Yet the introduction of voice and song in the closing moments of the piece is a shock for all the wrong reasons – it feels slightly clumsy and detracts from the emotional height the scene aims for. 

He’s Dead feels underdeveloped. Even at 45 minutes, parts feel stretched and don’t quite mesh; and the moments that pack a punch are short-lived. The piece is rich with exciting ideas, raw moments, and great choreography spearheaded by a brilliant artist but could do with more time and dramaturgical direction.