Review: Choir Boy (Stratford East)

Review by Lily Melhuish

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

A performance quickly turns into an act of public humiliation in the opening moments of Choir Boy. Pharus, the confident and gifted lead soloist of the prestigious Charles R. Drew Prep School choir, freezes mid-song in front of the whole school. What should be a triumphant graduation ceremony rendition of “Trust and Obey” collapses due to a racial and homophobic slur hurled by a fellow choir member. It’s a devastating interruption, and one that promptly sets the tone for Tarell Alvin McCraney’s tender, still painfully relevant coming‑of‑age play.

Set in an all-Black, all-male American academy, Choir Boy follows five teenage boys navigating the pressures of faith, masculinity and belonging within a rigid institution that demands conformity above all else. To become a “Drew man” is to be respected, or is it to be feared? Survival, not self‑expression, is the currency of manhood here, and for Pharus, a young black queer boy whose voice and wit refuse to be muted, the cost of that expectation feels especially high.

Nancy Medina’s acclaimed production (which premiered at Bristol Old Vic in 2023) finds a careful, compassionate balance between joy and cruelty, humour and heartbreak. While the boy-becomes-man narrative charts familiar territory, this production feels full-blooded and deeply personal, elevating McCraney’s strongest writing while widening its lens into a stunning ensemble piece.

Terique Jarrett is extraordinary as Pharus, and for anyone who has seen him perform before, his ability to command a stage will come as no surprise. His Pharus is sharp, cocky and hilarious, wielding humour as both a shield and a blade with the speed of someone who has learned early how to protect himself. Jarrett leans fully into the role’s comic potential, but is just as intoxicating when he lets the mask slip. In quieter moments - late-night dorm room conversations with his roommate AJ, or vulnerable exchanges with Headmaster Marrow - we glimpse the exhausted, wounded boy beneath the swagger. It’s a performance of enormous control and emotional generosity.

The supporting ensemble ensures that Choir Boy is never reduced to a solo showcase. Michael Ahomka-Lindsay’s David anchors the second act, his slow-burn arc revealing layers of faith, pressure and repression. It’s a beautifully rhythmic performance, marked by precision in both comedy and sorrow. Privately unraveling under parental expectation, David’s quiet bravado feels less like a façade and more like an alternative method of survival to Pharus’s own. Ahomka-Lindsay handles this transformation with delicacy and restraint, making David the production’s most intriguing and conflicted figure. Vocally, he is just as compelling: an understated presence with a clean falsetto and a warm, resonant timbre that lends real intimacy to his musical moments.

Rabi Kondé’s bully Bobby is brash, volatile and permanently on the defensive. The grief for his deceased mother is worn raw, and redirected as cruelty towards Pharus. Though Bobby is perhaps the least fleshed-out role on the page, Kondé fills in the gaps with ferocity, embodying the kind of teenage rage that has nowhere safe to land. Alongside him is Khalid Daley’s JR, who brings warmth and comic timing as Bobby’s impressionable sidekick. Largely played for laughs early on, Daley delivers a stunning, heart-wrenching solo at the play’s climax that recontextualises the character entirely. 

Freddie MacBruce is wonderfully endearing as AJ, Pharus’s roommate and confidant. While timid in the choir room, AJ comes alive in private, offering Pharus (and himself) a rare haven where vulnerability is permitted. Their interactions are as hilarious as they are insightful, the love between the pair unmistakable and unconditional. Their relationship models the production’s most tender concepts: that acceptance is not just generous, but mutually sustaining.

Medina’s direction ensures that each boy feels fully embedded within the narrative, not merely orbiting Pharus’ journey. It’s clear she has expanded on what McCraney offers on the page, crafting a production that feels whole and deeply considered. Despite the absence of women onstage, their influence is keenly felt. Each boy’s understanding of care, discipline and moral grounding is subtly shaped by maternal influence, with masculinity in constant dialogue with femininity and nurture. Ingrid Mackinnon’s movement direction compliments this sensitivity, transforming gospel hymns into moments of fluid physicality. The synchronised choreography reflects the institution’s demand for uniformity, while moments of collapse and closeness expose fragility beneath performances of strength.

Music remains the production’s emotional backbone, and there isn’t a weak link in this extraordinary group of singers. Under musical director and arranger Femi Temowo, the a cappella gospel singing is sublime, effortless harmonies spilling out at moments of uncontainable feeling. The standout sequence, a soulful rendition of “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child” staged in the boys’ shower room, finds them gathered around Bobby in towels, stripped back to bare skin and bare souls. It’s a moment of extraordinary tenderness that reframes his hostility through grief.

Fourteen years after its premiere, Choir Boy remains unsettlingly pertinent. In a world still keen to police difference and demand assimilation, Medina’s production insists on the necessity of resistance and allyship. Rich with music, humour and heart, Choir Boy at Stratford East is an affecting, beautifully performed production that honours both individuality and brotherhood.

Choir Boy plays at Stratford East until 25th April. Tickets from https://www.stratfordeast.com/whats-on/all-shows/choir-boy

Photos by Mark Senior