The Red Lion

southbanklondon.com

As I took my seat in the Dorfman Theatre, taking in the authenticity of Anthony Ward's set with its muddied walls and dirtied showers, it felt strangely familiar. The yearning I had to get myself back into one of those changing rooms - to struggle to pull my socks over my shin pads, bang my boots, to sit on one of those old battered benches - was pulling me in. The nostalgia was hitting me big time.

nationaltheatre.org

Daniel Mays lured us in further with his spectacular bitching about the state of the turf - especially around the goal-line - about referees, about pitch misconduct (we all have a story about the time THAT ref heard us call him something we shouldn't). Mays had energy like you wouldn't believe, commandeering the stage like he'd trodden its boards a thousand times. He had grit and ownership - everything a manager normally possesses - minus the chewing gum.

The first half allowed us into this male world, seething with homoeroticism that is all but celebrated yet confidently exercised. The youngest of our three man cast was Calvin Demba - playing a wayward young kid with talent on a ball and a few secrets in tow. It wasn't just a game for him, football was the place he was in control, the bit of turf he owned and the place he shone beyond his usual parameters. If there's anything I recognise, its that. That feeling you get on the pitch where everything else drifts away and for 90mins you control your own destiny. Even if it's just in your own little sunday league bubble, it's yours and you're in charge. Even on those misty winter mornings in the playground, with visible breath, wearing just a cotton school shirt and freezing my tits off - because yes, I have those. I wanted to get out on that field instantly. I was getting restless in the theatre. I felt Jordan's frustration, his worries about his knee injury, his aggression at being asked to cheat. His awkwardness at getting his kit off for a massage from another man - not that he was the only one to strip of course, all three of our men had their moment. For an actor I've only seen as a gobby little bad boy in Channel4s Youngers (which I actually loved btw) - I was suitably impressed with his command over his character. I'm quite excited by where he might go next, he's definitely one to watch.

Our cast weren't left to make drama where it wasn't written - Patrick Marber's script provided an authentic peek into a world any footballer would recognise. The line 'your sorry soul is always there to pull you back', 'he's man marking you' sticks out as one of the best. Some lines came off as a bit OTT and cheesy, but if you've ever been in a changing room it's exactly the kind of fearless prose that eeks its way into every conversation pre and post match.

Once again I was left to admire the set during the interval, where stage hands delivered scatters of ankle tape, mud and a worn-kit, filling the room with the musty smell of sweat and TCP. Even attention was given to the clock on the wall, showing that match time was over as the light outside the windows had shifted around the set. I longed to be there for real, unwinding after a game, nursing swollen ankles, with the stench of wet boots unavoidably seeping from the car boot. Again though I was awoken from my dreaming and given a story of three men who lived and breathed their club - albeit in their own way.

nationaltheatre.org

The second half was the time for our oldest cast member Peter Wight to really come into his own. The club was all Yates had, a club built on fairness and support - contradictory to Kidd who would do anything to get ahead. Whether it's three points on match day or £3000 through a dodgy transfer he was always looking to maximise potential for his reputation at the club. But our Yates was having none of it, even if it meant getting his hands dirty in the process. And dirty he did. He fights to mentor young Jordan facing direct opposition from May's character, Kidd and this time, the score line didn't matter. The most intense match was going on inside the changing room - which is why the play gets away with never showing any character playing football. The drama is already there.

nationaltheatre.org

Yates wins our hearts with his passion but by the end we're not sure who has it right. All three men have lied in the name of the sport they love BECAUSE they love it. It's hard to hate anyone by the end. We have an odd sort of hero worship going on - or maybe we just empathise.

The finale of the piece was unexpected. As Yates becomes the last of the three to get his kit off, we watch as he once again abides by the routine the audience has accustomed to. Alone in the changing rooms he plugs the plug in the wall, unreels the extension cable - but this time he keeps going. He unreels it long enough to walk it into the shower room - without the club he has nothing left - and his final moments are driven home by the sharp reality of just how much the beautiful game means to people. Even our rivals conclude that they are in fact both the same.

Marber's script gave us all of passion-filled cliches we expected but it gave us something else too. A feeling of integrity amongst the lies and an empathy for anyone who puts their heart and soul into football, on and off the pitch. It was empowering and the first thing I did when I got home is get my kit ready for training. It seems so many of us escape to this muddy-walled changing room, and The Red Lion only made me realise how much I rely on it for sanity. A beautiful ode to a beautiful game with a soft spot for anyone who immerses themselves in club life and football fanaticism - even the groundsman with the dodgy goal line!

A Sinner in Mecca

Parvez Sharma's A Sinner in Mecca - described as a hajj of defiance, screened at this year's Sheffield DocFest earlier this year, to a full house.

theguardian.com

Sharma had a lot to live up to following his previous film 'A Jihad for Love' where he documented the lives of gay, lesbian and transgender Muslims, who choose to remain faithful to Islam, and some in countries where many would choose to flee. Sharma decided it was time to fulfil his Hajj, only he had a secret, Parvez Sharma is a gay man, which carries with it more than the threat of being caught with a camera, but also the threat of death. Sharma confesses, 'I was done coming out as a gay man, I needed to come out as a Muslim' and that is exactly what A Sinner in Mecca set out to do - all-be-it rather indignantly. The 79min film is almost entirely shot on an Iphone, with various rules in place that would make it difficult to film on anything less discreet.

outlandic.com

However, if the aim was to prove himself as a Muslim, to come out devout to his faith, I felt that from start to finish the film was riveted with skepticism and tied together only by a slightly biased reaction to an only partly-authentic journey. Of course I expected him to be on his guard, he was filming and hiding the fact he was a gay man. Sharma has even received personalised death threats following the world premiere of his film in Canada. He does however, hold some form of a grudge against the faith that has caused many to shun him, or at least against the misinterpretation of that faith.

nytimes.com

For example, the Saudi shopping malls, the litter covering the streets of Mecca, the air-conditioned corridor that represents the journey between the desert hills of Al-Safa and Al-Marwah. Sure, that's enough to cause us all to question the authenticity of the pilgrimage. However, it was the way in which Sharma proceeded to sacrifice a goat despite his ill-feeling, to judge a father for teaching his children to throw an incorrect number of stones at 'the devil', to question what the hajj has become in order to cater for the millions of pilgrims each year. He even captured what should have been, and is for so many Muslims, the holiest moment of the Hajj, by touching the Kaaba and with iPhone in hand it felt like the least sincere moment of the film. It felt like an intrusion of the faith of those around him and as though he had no care for it at all. The film was still more important. It was his own Hajj of defiance against those other Muslims who judge him for being gay, and he was judging them right back. He too was measuring his fellow Pilgrims' 'Muslim-ness' to use a term I've seen in conversation. It was Sharma's skeptism towards this, his constant awareness of it, and his need to tell the camera of it, that actually persisted to convince me that Sharma was not proving his faith in his religion, but more disproving it. How can he comment on the sacredness and sanctity of the Hajj if he spends most of his time moving from socket to socket to charge his own iphone, to ultimately, make a film - which was the predominant reason for going after all. Perhaps that is why filming is prohibited in the first place - as the holy city is a place of spirituality, and capturing it as a mere visual image to show family and friends, or to fulfil a predetermined conclusion (or at least partially determined) is not a true reflection on the holy city, nor on the sacredness of the Hajj. Of course, I will never know or be able to form my own opinion on this, I cannot see it for myself, I am not a Muslim. So instead, Sharma is the best hope we have.

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I'd be lying if I said I didn't agree with him in places. Walking up and down an air-conditioned corridor is a far cry from what it is supposed to represent, and the litter within the holy city does beg to ask how holy a city it is if men will drop their litter on its grounds, but we've seen the aftermath of music festivals and street marches of only a few thousand, Mecca must welcome millions to its streets.




The personal journey was present at times. There were moments where Sharma found his sprituality, or at least recognised the value of being a part of a world-wide Muslim community coming together. It was hugely powerful to witness these moments in him and I felt that I learned much more about 'coming out as a Muslim' when he allowed himself to fulfil his emotional potential within his surroundings.

The film has reached much critical acclaim, and I feel as though I am in no place to revere it as anything less than the powerful documentary they claim it to be. It suffered from poor sound quality at times with a high pitched repetitive recurring sound that seemed to find its way into the mix often but considering it was filmed on an Iphone, I couldn't fault it any further. Although I would question the legitimacy of its narrative voice, I highly disagree with the amount of hate mail that has been directed at him for portraying his own journey, particularly when it comes to his sexuality. This is after all, Sharma's story and not one that should represent the Hajj of any other pilgrim. It's nice to know though, that wherever hate mail exists, there is someone there to fight Sharma's corner... it seems that his coming out as a Muslim has seen him welcomed after all. But at what cost? He spends 80mins telling us he was losing his faith rather than strengthening it and hen concludes that by the end he is a better Muslim - how'd he work that one out? He's no better than those who judge him. He almost makes it worse for himself, framing himself as a kind of martyr, 'Islam is at war with itself and I have fought hard not to be a casualty' he says.

You can catch 'A Sinner in Mecca' on Netflix and it's definitely worth a watch. It really is a conversation starter, and a film that really gets you thinking about self-discovery. It's a rather intrusive 80min portrayal of the Hajj and its pilgrims and an equally judgemental narrative but worth a watch all the same, even if only to disagree with Sharma.