Review: Mojo at The King’s Arms is electric, edgy, unmissable

Fringe theatre in Manchester is alive and kicking. It may not be shouting from the rooftops due to limited promotional budgets, but venues like The King’s Arms are consistently punching above their weight. Following productions of David Mamet’s American Buffalo and Brian Friel’s Faith Healer comes this highly acclaimed black comedy by Jez Butterworth.

Driven by sharp dialogue and a cast of characters all vying to be top dog, Mojo feels like an early Tarantino film transported to Soho. We’re taken to Ezra’s Atlantic Nightclub, where sharply dressed men – part of a gang – discuss everything from friendship and love to rivalry and violence. What starts as banter soon turns brutal, and some find themselves in the firing line.

This is survival of the fittest – and fastest. If you’re the kingpin, there’s always someone snapping at your heels like a hyperactive alligator. What really grabs you, as these characters constantly try to pull the rug out from under each other, is the movement. The fleeting dance sequences are powerful – this is a dance of defiance, and the club becomes a bear pit.

Matthew Khan’s jittery performance as Skinny is like an unwound slinky. He moves frantically across the stage, always looking over his shoulder. Even when he stands up for himself, he tentatively searches for backup. His tension is palpable, and he’s completely immersed in this gritty underworld.

Paddy Stafford brings all the glitter and gold as Baby, and we soon realise that no one puts him in the corner. As he begins his fight back, he emerges as a contender. His body language is striking – when he truly ‘arrives,’ the play becomes chilling.

Charlie Watkinson (Potts) and Jack Elliot (Sweets) form a comic double act, gossiping and talking rubbish, but always with one eye on a way up – or out. Their loyalty is driven by fear.

John O’Neil delivers a measured performance as Mickey, and it’s this restraint that makes his character so intimidating. A single look could freeze you. He moves with quiet confidence and purpose.

Butterworth’s script does feel slightly dated at times, and it occasionally meanders, revisiting similar ground. While there are moments when the overlapping dialogue crackles with energy, the quirky, rapid-fire wit found in Martin McDonagh’s work is somewhat lacking here.

Director Oliver Hurst, however, is one to watch. As seen in his previous production of Simon Stephens’ Pornography at 53two, he works with actors to create real chemistry and synchronicity. The cast here deliver electrifying performances, each revealing new facets of their characters as the story unfolds.

Every actor commands your attention – including Gaz Thomson, who appears at the beginning and end of the play – and they move across the stage with the agility of a newborn gazelle.

Paddy Stafford, in particular, delivers a performance of remarkable magnitude and versatility. One moment filled with pain, the next chilling and combative, you’re never sure what he’ll do next. It’s a defining performance.

The intimate setting of The King’s Arms works brilliantly – you feel like a bystander in the club, watching the chaos unfold, frozen by fear.

They say the play’s the thing – but in this case, it’s the production. Oliver Hurst’s Mojo is elevated by his confident direction and a set of unforgettable performances that stay with you.

Mojo runs at The King’s Arms until 24th May and tickets can be booked here.