Pride – Dorfman Theatre, National Theatre

⭐ 5/5

Every so often, you see a piece of theatre that feels almost like a unicorn: something that can make you laugh, make you cry, entertain you completely and, at the same time, leave you thinking about something genuinely important.

For me, Pride is one of those shows.

Based on the remarkable true story that inspired the 2014 film, Pride takes us back to 1984, during the miners' strike. Britain's mining communities were engaged in a bitter confrontation with Margaret Thatcher's government, while another community was fighting a very different battle. Gay men and lesbians were facing widespread prejudice and discrimination, alongside the emerging devastation of the AIDS crisis.

Out of those two seemingly very different worlds came an extraordinary alliance.

A group of London-based lesbian and gay activists, led by Mark Ashton, formed Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners (LGSM) and began raising money for striking miners. Their efforts eventually connected them with a mining community in South Wales.

On the surface, these communities could hardly have appeared more different.

But underneath, they understood something fundamental about one another: what it feels like to be marginalised, vilified and treated as though your voice doesn't matter.

And that is where the magic of Pride lies.

This isn't really a story about miners or gay rights. It's a story about people.

It's about finding common ground where nobody expects it to exist. It's about friendship, solidarity and the extraordinary things that can happen when people stop concentrating on what makes them different and recognise what they share.

The musical reunites Stephen Beresford, who wrote the screenplay for the original film, with its director Matthew Warchus. Beresford has written the book and lyrics for the stage version, while Warchus has developed and directed the production.

That continuity really shows.

Beresford's script is beautifully judged because it never allows the politics to overwhelm the people. These aren't characters who exist merely to represent a cause; they are funny, flawed, frightened, courageous and completely human.

The writing moves effortlessly between broad comedy and genuine heartbreak. One minute you're laughing, and seemingly seconds later something catches you completely off guard emotionally.

Crucially, the script doesn't sanitise the story either. There is prejudice and rejection. There is homophobia. There is fear surrounding AIDS. There is economic devastation within the mining communities.

But none of that extinguishes the joy.

If anything, it makes the moments of friendship, acceptance and solidarity considerably more powerful.

This is a new musical, with an original score by Christopher Nightingale, Josh Cohen and DJ Walde, drawing on everything from pop, rock and disco to protest music and the Welsh choral tradition.

And the songs are wonderful.

Importantly, they don't feel as though they've simply been inserted because somebody decided Pride needed to become a musical. The music feels integral to the communities and the period being portrayed.

There is an energy to the score that allows the production to move between the exuberance of London's gay scene and the very different musical identity of a Welsh mining community without either feeling like a caricature.

The singing across the company is exceptional, but what impressed me most was how much the music contributes to the storytelling. These aren't simply songs designed to give individual performers their big moment; they build characters, relationships and a sense of community.

Matthew Warchus's direction is equally assured.

There's a danger with a story like this that it could become overly sentimental. Equally, push too far in the opposite direction and you risk losing the enormous emotional heart that makes the story so special.

Warchus finds the balance beautifully.

The production can be exuberant, funny and occasionally wonderfully ridiculous, but when it needs to become quiet, painful or intimate, it trusts the audience enough to let those moments breathe.

And the cast is phenomenal.

You care about these people.

Whether it's a Welsh miner fighting for his livelihood or a young gay man tentatively trying to understand who he is, each character feels important. Nobody seems to exist merely to move the plot along.

By the end, you don't feel as though you've been watching two communities.

You feel as though you've watched them become one.

And that absolutely broke me.

I left the Dorfman with something I haven't felt leaving a theatre for a while: a renewed sense of optimism about people.

There is something incredibly powerful about being reminded that communities don't have to look alike, think alike or live alike to stand beside one another.

And perhaps that message feels particularly important now.

Pride manages to be fabulously written, beautifully acted, brilliantly sung and enormously entertaining while still having something meaningful to say.

It made me laugh.

It made me cry.

It made me angry.

It made me hopeful.

And ultimately, it left me feeling warm about humanity while simultaneously emotionally devastating me.

That's quite an achievement.

The Dorfman run was always frustratingly limited for a show this good, so I am delighted that Pride is transferring to the much larger Bridge Theatre from November.

Diarmuid wasn't able to come with me this time, so naturally I'm taking him to the Bridge.

And I genuinely cannot wait to watch him experience it.

I don't think he'll just like it.

I think he'll love it.

If you love theatre, musicals, people, history, or simply stories that remind us that human beings are capable of extraordinary kindness when they choose solidarity over division, go and see Pride.

It's funny, heartbreaking, joyful, political, uplifting and beautifully human.

Quite simply, it's everything I want theatre to be.

♿ Accessibility at the Dorfman Theatre

Accessibility-wise, the Dorfman is actually one of my preferred spaces within the National Theatre complex.

It's the smallest of the National's three theatres and is situated around the side of the main building. That is probably the trickiest part on a first visit — actually working out where you're supposed to go.

Once you're there, however, it's considerably easier to navigate than the larger National Theatre spaces.

The Dorfman is particularly interesting because it's a flexible auditorium, meaning the seating configuration can change depending on the production.

For Pride, my wheelchair position was on the first balcony/circle level, and it worked extremely well. The sightline was brilliant, there was plenty of space around my wheelchair and I felt properly connected to the performance rather than tucked away at the back of the auditorium.

There are also two accessible toilets, which is always reassuring, particularly in a smaller theatre.

The foyer and bar area can become extremely busy before a performance and during the interval, and that can make manoeuvring in a wheelchair slightly more challenging. Overall, though, I found it very manageable.

Staff were helpful and, because the venue itself is relatively compact, I didn't feel that I needed the level of access assistance that can sometimes be necessary elsewhere within the National Theatre complex.

⭐ Wheelie Good Show verdict: 5/5

I rarely give five stars simply because the production has to not only be technically excellent, superbly written, impeccably acted but for me, a five-star show has to do something more.

It has to make me feel something.

Pride did that in abundance.

Wonderful performances. Beautiful writing. Exceptional singing. A fabulous score. Brilliant direction. And at its heart, an extraordinary true story about what can happen when people who appear to have nothing in common decide to stand together.

Funny. Devastating. Hopeful. Joyful. Human.

This isn't simply a great new British musical.

It's a piece of theatre magic.

⭐ 5/5 — without hesitation.