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Nine Lives, Bridge Theatre, review: lyrical and newly relatable portrait of an immigrant in Britain

Lladel Bryant in Nine Lives, at the Bridge Theatre - Richard Lakos
Lladel Bryant in Nine Lives, at the Bridge Theatre - Richard Lakos

Are we not feeling a bit unsettled, anxious, restless and at times alone with this pandemic and not wholly sure the state will be there for us with a helping hand? Although the subject of Nine Lives, the final component of the Bridge’s (reopening) monologue season, is immigration and asylum-seeking, the predicament in which its Zimbabwean protagonist finds himself has acquired an unexpected quality of relatability since it was first staged in 2014.

Ishmael –  the fictional creation of Zimbabwean-born, Yorkshire-based playwright Zodwa Nyoni after researching and consulting relevant UK asylum-seekers – is first seen racing away from a mob, hounded for his homosexuality. His journey to Britain is skated over, the cold hard reality of the promised land duly and swiftly sketched. Something about the way time slows during his bare-bones months in a Leeds high-rise, waiting for his case to be determined, rings a bell.

“These concrete cocoons, where we live in limbo, would be perfect metaphors for change, if we didn’t emerge so scarred.” Not knowing from one day to the next what’s happening sure takes its toll – as well we now know.

The danger with an issue-led piece like this is that it’s preaching to the converted and pushing a hoary agenda of grievance. There’s a fair bit of that at the start – gripes about heartless bureaucracy (at Heathrow, “They asked me to prove that I am gay,” he shudders, something he has shied from telling friends and family) and the evocation of a growling local yobbo (“It’s all right for you, free food, free clothes, free laptops”) that feels a bit too textbook xenophobe.

Not that harsh realities aren’t worth airing: the meagre £36 weekly allowance; the fear of sudden removal (which happens here to Ishmael’s flatmate). Last year, it was revealed the Home Office had refused more than 3,000 asylum claims for LGBT nationals from countries where same-sex acts are criminalised.

We need more than guilt-tripping, though, and – partly thanks to the lyricism of the script, and mainly to the energetic charisma of actor Lladel Bryant (directed by Alex Chisholm) – this 50-minute affair affirms the resilience and curiosity of the incomer in a way that’s unforced and even inspiring. Accompanied by the soothing plucking of a mbira (by Kudausche Matimba), with only a light-bulb and suitcase for décor, Bryant fills the stage – stepping into others’ shoes to convey his encounters, thereby inviting us to step into his.

He roves Leeds streets, wide-eyed, taking in fish’n’chip and charity shops, mosques and back-to-backs: “I want to remember it and I want it to remember me.” Perhaps there could be a monologue that dared to show a far less benign refugee figure, one who plays the system rather than is daunted and even dashed down by it. But the gentleness of the drama here (its highlight an on-off relationship with a single-mum) feels like a necessary balm amid the roughness of current conditions and a timely reminder that redeeming instances of common humanity might be only an innocuous “hello” or friendly smile away.

Until Sat. Tickets: 0333 320 0051; bridgetheatre.co.uk