While the idea of using a hair salon as a setting to bring together a group of disparate women to chat, discuss, argue has been well used in such shows as Coronation Street and films like Steel Magnolias, it’s not quite as common to see men discussing life while getting a trim.

Yet that is exactly what African playwright Inua Ellams has done with his highly successful play Barber Shop Chronicles.

Going to his local barber in Peckham, South London, then travelling through cities in Africa visiting barber shops there, he has amassed loads of conversations from those environments and observed how African men came together to use the shop as a confessional, a political platform, to discuss latest sports fixtures, to joke, and generally engage in much light-hearted banter. [More] 

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According to Wikipedia there have been two US sitcoms that use the barber shop as a point of entry to African-American culture: That’s my Mama! and Barbershop, the former dating from the 70s and the latter from the 2000s. Neither was an outright hit – unlike this show – and neither is referenced in this production. But I can remember them both (I know!) and can’t help mentioning them here because I think they illustrate the fact that, despite its tremendous conceptual appeal, the barbershop as a kind of lacuna in the dominant culture; a rare open space and open mic, a confessional and a pulpit for African men, it is a hard idea to make work theatrically. I think that’s just because, in a barbershop, telling is always going to dominate showing. But no doubt some audience members will feel this reversal of priorities more keenly than others.

A big advantage of this production is that the barbershops in question are also located in the home countries of the African migrants to the UK with which the story is mainly concerned. These locations traverse: Accra, Ghana; Kampala, Uganda; Harere, Zimbabwe; Johannesburg, South Africa; Lagos, Nigeria; and London England. Writer Inua Ellams researched extensively, gathering 60 hours of recordings in barber shops in these parts of Africa as well as many hours listening to conversations in shops in London.

This material was, as he puts it, ‘whittled down’ to a four hour play and then to this two hour long show, in which a narrative also emerges. Between the scenes are bravura slices of song and dance, often using the props of the set and introducing the next location. This complex, choreographed a capella voice work by the actors and music person Michael Henry is simply wondrous.

In a cunning, remarkably mobile set; the performances of all the cast are of the highest quality. All, indeed, are working regularly at the top levels of English film, television and theatre and each brings superb individuation to the many characters they present, along with flawless, exuberant ensemble work.

It is an all-male cast but every actor brings another nuance to that male energy, both collectively and individually. If there is a theme that emerges it has something to do with fathers failing sons – and fatherlands failing their native born – amidst the legacy of colonial divide and rule strategies. But the free movement of peoples also creates hope for the world.

If I have any issue with the direction it would be that it doesn’t seem fully oriented – or perhaps adapted – to a thrust theatre space arrangement. It also seems that, with filled bleachers due to the sell-out crowd, the acoustic of the TSB Arena dies, cutting short the ends of phrases. The result is some problems with audibility in some parts of the theatre.

This is a high calibre, superbly polished and performed piece of theatre. For me, it is something of a triumph of development over design – but a triumph it is. Regrettably it won’t be seen at the Auckland festival. I am waiting with bated breath for the soundtrack.  

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