Ilford Boy at the Donmar: Witty coming-of-age story

A coming-of-age tale in a rich East London milieu, actor Danny Lee Wynter’s second play is warm but not cosy. It teems with vulgar wit and life, and Tim Sheader’s production features a host of fine performances.

True, the plotting can be obvious and Wynter (who was born in 1982) is over-liberal with the period details that root the play in 1980 and 1995 – references to Body Shop, Michael Barrymore, right-to-buy and Lady Di. But overall this is a proper riot, innit?

It opens in 1995 with a closure: callow biracial teenager Ted (Leo Whitfield Harris) brings on a funeral floral arrangement for his grandmother, Eileen. His white mum Tillie (Ria Zmitrowicz, who always lights up a stage) only sees his black father Ken (Gershwyn Eustache Jnr, also a standout) once a week. He comes over to pick Ted up for boxing lessons and maybe spends the night. Gradually, we gather their apparent uncoupled ease has a grimmer history to it.

Meanwhile in this household of women Tillie’s lackadaisically sardonic younger sister Ann (Charlotte Jaconelli) is about to have her first child with Hindu taxi driver Raj (Aaron Gill), while third sibling Jackie (Jodie McNee) henpecks her hapless husband Trevor (Cary Crankson). Tillie’s black GBF Patrick (Craig Stein), a dancer in the theatre, blows in and out as if he owns the place. His breezy chat about friends in hospital and his worsening cough sound another ominous note.

Later, we see the three sisters, Ken and Patrick in their 80s youth, guzzling Ritz crackers, Malibu and spliff in the living room where Eileen plays her Barbra Streisand tapes. In both eras the extended clan toss around insults, offensive slurs and F-bombs with abandon. Wynter captures the camaraderie and affection that unites the characters, then gradually reveals the legacy of prejudice and violence that divides them. Patrick’s preacher father rejects him; Ken’s dad beats him and his mum.

Craig Stein and Leo Whitfield Harris in ILFORD BOY (Donmar Warehouse, 2026)

Helen Murray

Sometimes this play is not subtle. Streisand and the stage represent an escape from a world of borstals and brutality. There are jokey references for in-the-know theatre audiences to 90s-era Lloyd Webber and the stage career of Adrian Lester (“a black man called Adrian?” Ken boggles). And to the time police raided the Vauxhall Tavern at the height of Aids paranoia in 1987, all wearing Marigold gloves (“Have yer come to do the washing up?” compere Lily Savage snapped from the stage).

The first act ends with a terrific tap routine from Patrick to Don’t Rain on My Parade, during which Peter McKintosh’s suburban-semi set lights up with pink and blue neon; the second turns on Ken bullying him into a vicious sparring session. Ted’s climactic revelation is not exactly a surprise.

But what really impresses is the verve and vividness of characters that could verge on the sitcom-ish. Zmitrowicz’s Tillie bursts out of her mum’s bathroom, bawling at her family to shut up: “I can’t hear myself sh*t!”. But her hurt at Ted’s shruggy disdain and her complex feelings for Ken are powerfully felt. She, Jackonelli and McNee – plus Lindsey Coulson as matriarch Eileen in the 80s scenes - are absolutely hilarious yet we also see the humanity behind their brash facades.

And it’s not just the women. Patrick is beautifully played by Stein, even if the character errs towards the stock figure of the saintly fairy godmother. Raj also sails close to a stereotype until Wynter fills in some challenging details. Crankson’s understated Trevor gets a touching late speech. Most impressively, Eustache gives an extraordinary performance of macho bombast and coiled menace as Ken, before revealing a terrible vulnerability.

Having complained that Wynter lays on the period references too thickly, there is fun if you lived through these eras in spotting the signifiers: the cap-sleeved sweatshirts and bodycon dresses; the tape deck giving way to the Discman; the bottles of Piat D’Or. Wynter shares many traits with Ted, who is the least developed character: in this fantasy autobiography he draws the older generation with fine grained humanity and zesty wit.