Pijin | Pigeon review

Alun’s portrayal of innocence lost is very affecting, an accident then a murder propelling him towards the caricature his tough-guy demeanour suggests. Iola is the heart of the story: willingly led astray by Pijin but also his protector, she is wracked with a quiet guilt that’s skilfully played by Gruffydd. Nia Gandhi is endearing as Cher, the daughter of Him. She’s taken Pijin’s bedroom and is hated at first by the others. We realise she’s damaged too, in more ways than are obvious, and her unflinching optimism is as tragic as Pijin’s lost youth.

The production’s fussy design falls somewhere between minimalism and epic naturalism, sadly committing to neither. The stage is somehow sparse but cluttered all at once. Short punchy scenes are punctuated by overlong changes and the moving of countless props and apparatus, meaning the 100 minutes feels slower than it should.

Similarly, the action is caught between two stools – lurching from very literal combat scenes to stylised capoeira evocations of movement – meaning the production loses clarity at times. A key moment in which one of the main characters is badly injured feels vague, and took me out of the play at a key juncture.

Thankfully, the spirit and decency at the heart of the book shines through. Pijin | Pigeon is all the better when there are few tricks, and, as was Conran’s intention, the voices of the young people are properly heard.