Review: A Walk on Part

Stage adaptation of Chirs Mullin's diary is visionary, worrisome and totally endearing.

A Walk on Part at the Soho Arts Theatre is adapted from the diaries of former Labour MP Chris Mullin, and tells the epic journey of New Labour, from the 1997 general election to their defeat in 2010.

As with any performance dealing heavily in politics, it runs the risk of being dry. But Michael Chaplin’s adaptation, in this case directed by Max Roberts, is fast-paced, witty and insightful, all the while managing to retain Mullin’s voice: visionary, worrisome and totally endearing.

The cast comprises of five actors, but the central figure is Mullin, played superbly by John Hodgkinson with his wonky posture, mad professor hair and clothes that don’t quite fit. His resemblance to Quentin Letts’ Mullin description is uncanny: “His trousers flap eminently around his shins, his sparse hair is unkempt, his spectacles could do with a polish, and his manner of speaking is gentlemanly. He resembles a deckchair that’s been left out all winter.” Hodgkinson narrates the plot, snapping effortlessly between monologue and dialogue and knowing Mullin’s story inside out.

The other actors multi-role between various political and media figures, the most notable being Hywel Morgan as Tony Blair, whose intonation, gesture, and facial movements give Dead Ringers’ John Culshaw a run for his money, and Joe Caffrey as Gordon Brown, complete with stoic frown and signature jaw-drop. Others are John Prescott (or “JP” to Mullin), Geoff Hoon, Claire Short, and Tony Benn. All the cast wear a hint of Labour’s red: a tie, a flash of shirt, shoes.

The stage is bare other than two rows of four chairs, accommodating the actors when they aren’t in role, and a stack of 90s television screens embedded in the back wall, which provide the dates of Mullin’s entries, bookmarking the episodes in British political history.

But their function goes further than that: when Blair enters Downing Street, his smirk and wave is reflected and multiplied in each screen; when the Guardian’s Michael White calls Mullin on the 11 September 2001 and tells him to turn on his TV, that all-too familiar image of aeroplanes crashing into the World Trade Centre silences the auditorium. 9/11 was, for so many people, beyond comprehension and even reality; we associate the event with what we saw on TV, and Roberts’ interpretation is a nod to the sensationalism of its coverage.

The TVs provide general illustration to the plot: stills of the House of Commons during PMQs, various MPs, and humorously, Steve Bell’s magnificent cartoons, namely the infamous Gordon Brown, slumped and defeated in a boxing ring after the 2010 election, and the depiction of David Cameron with a condom stretched over his head.

But their illustration does not go as far as to draw attention away from the action. Mullin’s diaries reveal an awful lot about himself and the Labour Party. He is wholly idealistic, voting against the invasion of Iraq and confronting former Defence Secretary Geoff Hoon on the targeting of civilians in Afghanistan. In such a cynical age, it is refreshing to experience an MP who is non-deferential, speaking his mind and following his heart. But even Mullin becomes pessimistic about what he can achieve as a politician: from the disillusionment as a junior minister in Prescott’s environment office, to his inability to improve the lives of Ukranian asylum seekers, to his work as Africa Minister at the Foreign Office.

We are also fed snippets of Mullin’s family life. His devotion is touching, particularly given the Westminster context of seedy affairs and marital neglect. We witness his mother’s health deteriorating and his daughters growing up, and when he finally steps down, it is for his wife.

Chaplin has tweaked Mullin’s diaries to highlight the symmetry between past events and what we know today. As soon as Labour is elected, there is the question of Rupert Murdoch and the Competition Bill - John Major goes so far as to say that Murdoch has “done such damage to this country”. Mullin is outspoken in his recognition that a life of consumerism is not sustainable for the economy nor the environment, a conviction all the more urgent as we are steeped in both financial and climate chaos. His reluctance to go into war is all the more poignant more than ten years since the invasion of Afghanistan, and when the British death toll surpassed 400 earlier this year.

A Walk On Part is an excellent dramatisation of Mullin’s revealing diaries that tell us a great deal about the political landscape of the past 15 years, captivating the audience in a world that is all too relevant today.

A Walk On Part is at the Soho Arts Theatre until 14 July

Tracy Gillman, Hywel Morgan and John Hodgkinson on stage. Image by Simon Annand
Photo: Getty
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The DUP scored £1bn for just ten votes – so why be optimistic about our EU deal?

By March 2019, we’re supposed to have renegotiated 40 years of laws and treaties with 27 ­countries.

If Theresa May’s government negotiates with the European Union as well as it negotiated with the Democratic Unionist Party, it’s time to cross your fingers and desperately hope you have a secret ­Italian grandfather. After all, you’ll be wanting another passport when all this is over.

The Northern Irish party has played an absolute blinder, securing not only £1bn in extra funding for the region, but ensuring that the cash is handed over even if the power-sharing agreement or its Westminster confidence-and-supply arrangement fails.

At one point during the negotiations, the DUP turned their phones off for 36 hours. (Who in Westminster knew it was physically possible for a human being to do this?) Soon after, needling briefings emerged in the media that they were also talking to Labour and the Lib Dems. In the end, they’ve secured a deal where they support the government and get the Short money available only to opposition parties. I’m surprised Arlene Foster didn’t ask for a few of the nicer chairs in Downing Street on her way out.

How did this happen? When I talked to Sam McBride of the Belfast News Letter for a BBC radio programme days before the pact was announced, he pointed out that the DUP are far more used to this kind of rough and tumble than the Conservatives. Northern Irish politics is defined by deal-making, and the DUP need no reminder of what can happen to minnows in a multiparty system if they don’t convince their voters of their effectiveness.

On 8 June, the DUP and Sinn Fein squeezed out Northern Ireland’s smaller parties, such as the SDLP and the Alliance, from the region’s Westminster seats. (McBride also speculated on the possibility of trouble ahead for Sinn Fein, which ran its campaign on the premise that “abstentionism works”. What happens if an unpopular Commons vote passes that could have been defeated by its seven MPs?)

The DUP’s involvement in passing government bills, and the price the party has extracted for doing so, are truly transformative to British politics – not least for the public discussion about austerity. That turns out to be, as we suspected all along, a political rather than an economic choice. As such, it becomes much harder to defend.

Even worse for the government, southern Europe is no longer a basket case it can point to when it wants to scare us away from borrowing more. The structural problems of the eurozone haven’t gone away, but they have receded to the point where domestic voters won’t see them as a cautionary tale.

It is notable that the Conservatives barely bothered to defend their economic record during the election campaign, preferring to focus on Jeremy Corbyn’s spending plans. In doing so, they forgot that many of those who voted Leave last year – and who were confidently expected to “come home” to the Conservatives – did so because they wanted £350m a week for the NHS. The Tories dropped the Cameron-era argument of a “long-term economic plan” that necessitated short-term sacrifices. They assumed that austerity was the New Normal.

However, the £1bn the government has just found down the back of the sofa debunks that, and makes Conservative spending decisions for the rest of the parliament fraught. With such a slim majority, even a small backbench rebellion – certainly no bigger than the one that was brewing over tax-credit cuts until George Osborne relen­ted – could derail the Budget.

One of the worst points of Theresa May’s election campaign was on the BBC ­Question Time special, when she struggled to tell a nurse why her pay had risen so little since 2009. “There isn’t a magic money tree that we can shake that suddenly provides for everything that people want,” the Prime Minister admonished. Except, of course, there is a magic money tree, and May has just given it a damn good shake and scrumped all the cash-apples that fell from it.

That short-term gain will store up long-term pain, if the opposition parties are canny enough to exploit it. In the 2015 election, the claim that the SNP would demand bungs from Ed Miliband to prop up his government was a powerful argument to voters in England and Wales that they should vote Conservative. Why should their hospitals and schools be left to moulder while the streets of Paisley were paved in gold?

The attack also worked because it was a proxy for concerns about Miliband’s weakness as a leader. Well, it’s hard to think of a prime minister in a weaker position than May is right now. The next election campaign will make brutal use of this.

Northern Ireland might deserve a greater wodge of redistribution than the Barnett formula already delivers – it has lower life expectancy, wages and productivity than the British average – but the squalid way the money has been delivered will haunt the Tories. It also endangers one of the Conservatives’ crucial offers to their base: that they are the custodians of “sound money” and “living within our means”.

Labour, however, has not yet quite calibrated its response to the DUP’s new-found influence. Its early attacks focused on the party’s social conservatism, pointing out that it is resolutely anti-abortion and has repeatedly blocked the extension of equal marriage through “petitions of concern” at Stormont.

This tub-thumping might have fired up Labour’s socially progressive supporters in the rest of the UK, but it alienated some in Northern Ireland who resent their politicians being seen as fundamentalist yokels. (Only they get to call the DUP that: not Londoners who, until three weeks ago, thought Arlene Foster was the judge who got sacked from Strictly Come Dancing.)

And remember: all this was to get just ten MPs onside. By March 2019, we’re supposed to have renegotiated 40 years of legislation and treaties with 27 other European ­countries. Ha. Hahaha. Hahaha.

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

This article first appeared in the 29 June 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit plague

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