Four star review of The Boy at the Back of the Class at Sheffield Theatres

It’s strange, isn’t it that, as we grow up, and we grow older, we may still be in contact with friends we made at school, or with colleagues with whom we enjoyed a pint after work, and who we respected. If we are lucky, they are still very much people of the present, or warm recollections of the past. But the ones that have not just etched themselves, but seared themselves into our memories are the bullies. The ones that made our lives uncomfortable, or, in some cases, a blinding hell.

Such is the case in Nick Ahad’s perceptive – and loyal – adaptation of the best-selling and award-laden book by the campaigning author Onjali Q Rauf. She’s a writer who refuses to shy away from the big issues. In her first book, she spotlights the plight of refugees, in her second (The Star Outside My Window) she focuses on domestic abuse. Here, the bully is the son of opinionated and ill-informed parents, who pass on their hatred and contempt for the people who have fled their own countries in the hope of finding what they think (and hope) might be a better life in a safer United Kingdom. Bullies are, of course, nearly always cowards, and if Brendan (played with chilling skill by Joe MacNamara) can find an excuse for his appalling behaviour, he’ll grab it as a drowning man clutches at a straw. No act is too low for him, and young Ahmet, a nine-years-old who has not a word of English in his vocabulary, is the easiest of targets. A delicious push-over for the young thug. Until, well, there’s a twist, and lessons are learned. The trouble is, as we all know only too well, that bullies seem to develop into adult thugs, with a sense of entitlement. They are capable of awful cruelty, they are indifferent to suffering, and they are manipulative.

The play is aimed at a younger audience, but it is completely relevant to older years. The strange thing is that the vast majority on opening might would have been just about to go into their teens, or in them already – and the atmosphere was far more like the hubbub that you’d experience before the Lyceum’s celebrated and raucous pantomime, than that for a straight drama. The lights went down – and the noise abruptly stopped. There came immediate absorption in the performance, total concentration. The generation who are umbilically attached to their phones and their i-pads (metaphorically) cast them aside, and let themselves be told a story. The spoken word triumphed; we were back in the oral tradition again. Unbelievably, there are also a lot of laughs along the way, but our director Monique Touko, intuitively knows how to pace the action, and her happy way of bringing us into the tale – with what is rather like a slow ballet of the sea and a perilous crossing, in the very first scene - sets the mood perfectly. It’s a perfect ensemble piece, but Farshid Rokey shines as young Ahmet, the boy of the title. He’s ready to explode with rage……and when he does, keep your distance. We see him develop a resilience, and this boy will go far, we instinctively know that. The juvenile troubles will help him in adulthood. Brendan’s journey, we can predict, will be rather different.

To March 9.