When I see shows, I like to try and get my thoughts up on here as soon as possible, otherwise it feels a bit redundant in my mind to do it at all. With some shows, that’s really easy to do – what I want to say comes very easily. However, I’m reminded that all piece of theatre are unique beasts, some need time to settle and I need to take a little time to reflect before I put fingers to keyboard. One such was this past weekend, where I headed back to Trafalgar Studios for the first time since Grinning Man to see the latest revival of the late Peter Nichols classic A Day in the Death of Joe Egg.

Written in 1967 and based upon Nichols’ own experiences with his daughter who sadly passed when she was eleven, the play follows Bri and Sheila who are parents to their daughter Joe, who has Cerebral Palsy. The two indulge in black humour as a way to cope with the strain looking after her puts upon their marriage.

I love theatre that’s provocative and challenges me to think, but being really honest, with the subject matter, I was scared to see this production: it’s close to home. I have the same disability that Joe has, albeit to a lesser extent, and I knew it was going to stir up all kinds of emotions, some conflicting and not all pleasant. Looking back on it now though, I’m so glad I took on my fear and allowed my love and admiration for Toby Stephens to win out, as the result was an incredibly moving and thought provoking afternoon that, at least in my eyes still feels important and relevant today as it may have been shocking when it was first staged.

Peter Mckintosh’s set, a revolving structure similar to a dolls house, places the action in the family living room, allowing the actors to step in and out to other implied locations; there’s something incredibly intimate about it that felt like it heightened everything I was feeling, and the nod to the sixties in the costume design was an absolute delight as a fan of the fashion in the era. One of my favourite things on first look was Prema Mehta’s lighting, particularly the way in which the walls were rippled with the reflection of the Christmas lights on the little tree in the corner.

There are points throughout where characters are under spotlight to deliver monologues that can feel a little jarring as everything becomes stalled and starts up again, but the way in which the hues interplay warm and colder tones strikes as evocative, just like the subject matter. There’s repeated breaking of the fourth wall, the first instance of which involves Toby Stephens running in and scolding us as he would his unruly class, hands on heads to boot! It’s a piece that feels incredibly self aware and clever, with Simon Evans’ deft, well judged touch to balance everything out.

Because it is a balancing act, and a difficult one from my point of view as someone who lives her life face to face with some of the themes explored. Sheila’s love for Joe and her resilience and optimism comes up against Bri’s relentless humour which he uses to mask his pain, and I found it incredibly moving and poignant where she admits that she only joins in these jokes to please him, and that Bri “lives with despair”. They reminisce about Joe’s birth, and encounters with inept doctors and well meaning yet out of touch vicars. The second half, wherein we meet Sheila’s friend from amdram Freddie, his wife Pam and Bri’s mother Grace, is where the tone changes, and shows both how far we have come in terms of the way we think about disability, but also the work still to do. “Spastic”, “wegetable” and other terms are strewn throughout, so immediately you can see that the piece is of its time in terms of the language it uses and reaction to Joe, so initially I found the whole thing made me angry and uneasy, but it also allowed me to be perceptive: I was consistently thinking: “I wonder if my parents ever had similar feelings at all”, “yes, this is my life – people have talked about me as if I’m not there, we have to fight to be taken seriously”, and so on.

With that in mind, I was floored by how cathartic I found being there and getting a sense of release from some of the humour, however close to the piece I was.

This production marks the first time the character of Joe has been played by a disabled actress, Storme Toolis, and just on a personal level I cannot stress how wonderful that was. Before this, I have never seen “myself” represented onstage, at least without a non disabled actor taking the part. I want more representation of disability , as much as possible whenever possible; having us tell our stories and offer our insight will better inform the work, and give us a voice where I feel we’re lacking in one. Interestingly, Joe is usually played by a younger child, here she is fifteen which added another layer of emotional depth as it gives a weight to the strain, a sense of how much of their existence has been devoted to Joe, either through Sheila’s love and care or Bri’s childish resentment. Though Joe cannot verbally communicate and spends the show in a cycle of cries, dribbling and seizures, she is the centre of this particular world, be it to a positive reaction or a negative one, and Storme manages to imbue her with a warmth and likeability that can be hard to find elsewhere at times.

Credit: Marc Brenner

Claire Skinner is beautifully understated as Joe’s mother Sheila, whose love for Joe radiates from her. She delivers a monologue about Joe’s knocking down a brick tower that brought a tear to my eye. I was reminded so much of my own mum who would always fight my corner and want the best for me in spite of my limitations, and for that I loved her. I also felt incredible pangs of sympathy: she doesn’t know whether Joe or Bri is the bigger baby, and I began to think what she could be if this wasn’t the situation she had been in for fifteen years. Again, I couldn’t help thinking about my own parents here; don’t get me wrong I adore both of them and I know every day that they love me, but I do wonder, if things had been different how our relationship might be changed.

Claire also had some really lovely witty moments, and it was wonderful watching her play off the other cast members.

Credit: Marc Brenner

Alongside Claire, we have Toby Stephens as Bri. I’m not the least bit ashamed to admit that he was my reason for wanting to see this show, as I last saw him in Oslo in 2017, had an incredible time and wanted to repeat the experience. On paper and the surface, Bri is incredibly insecure, needy and a total goofball, always cracking jokes, and so my instinct was to immediately dislike him. However, you learn very quickly that this is his coping mechanism, and the way in which Toby is able to blend the two elements together and with such ease is phenomenal. His eyes are so expressive and his even the smallest gestures say so much; you get a really powerful sense of the darkness rattling around in Bri’s head.

Credit: Marc Brenner

As a massive fan, it was incredible to be able to properly look him in the eye as he worked, and to see him play a role so different to anything I’d seen him do: he has razor sharp comedy timing, and took the role to some incredibly dark yet moving places; a joy from start to end. There’s one particular scene that stayed with me: Bri and Joe are alone downstairs, and just for a moment, he stops messing around, acknowledges his daughter is in pain and eventually sidles up the sofa to take her hand, saying how soft and ladylike they are; it really touched me and showed how complex Bri is.

Patricia Hodge delights in her cameo as Bri’s overbearing mother Grace, and there’s scene stealing work from Lucy Eaton and Clarence Smith as Pam and Freddie; it was unnerving how quickly I could sense the fact that I’ve actually encountered many of the latter in my life; people who don’t know how to react to me and my disability, or who mean well but try and “fix” everything. They made me laugh the most as I felt I knew them: Pam with her dislike of anything “Non Physically Attractive”,and Freddie, who shouts when he’s trying to be “helpful”.

Thanks to Bri, the events in the second act take a rather sinister turn that I found hugely uncomfortable as he leads us to the question of quality of life and what gives it meaning, but what struck me throughout was the sense that all these characters are flawed, each in their own way, but that there’s something refreshingly human and honest about that which is partly why I think the play is still so relevant and powerful.

Credit: Marc Brenner

When it ended, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. My chest hurt like it does when I’m trying not to cry. I felt drained and when my friend asked if I was ok, I couldn’t answer with any certainty; I can’t recall another time when I’ve been affected so by a piece of theatre. Seeing something I could directly relate to in some ways was so intense and challenging, but I’m all the richer for it.

A Day In The Death Of Joe Egg runs until 30th November