The first in what has come to be known, albeit unofficially, as Philip Ridley’s East End Gothic Trilogy, The Pitchfork Disney (1991) is now widely regarded as a seminal work of British theatre. At its premiere, it shocked audiences and redefined what the stage could do; today, it still feels unsettling, unpredictable, and raw. Having seen one of the later plays in this trilogy, I thought I had some idea of what to expect. I was wrong.
The action unfolds in a dingy, chaotic living room, its clutter evoking a student flat more than a family home. Here live Presley and Haley (Ned Costello and Elizabeth Connick), 28-year-old twins whose lives have shrunk to an almost childlike stasis. Their parents died a decade earlier, though whether by accident, abandonment, or even something darker is never clarified. At one point, Presley slips and says, “they left,” which only deepened my suspicion: had the twins been abandoned? Or worse, had they themselves been responsible for their death? Ridley leaves the truth deliberately vague, but what is unmistakable is that the twins are deeply damaged, traumatised, paralysed by fear, and emotionally stunted.
To pin this play to a single genre is impossible. It is comic in places, particularly in its first half, but it is also a tense psychological drama and a surreal horror story. Ridley thrives on this slipperiness, making the audience constantly adjust its footing.
Both Presley and Haley deliver the kind of long, elaborate monologues that are a Ridley hallmark. Here, they were delivered with intensity and precision: Connick’s nervous fragility was moving, while Costello’s energy, especially in Presley’s nightmare sequence, was magnetic. Their dependence on drugs, an unidentified liquid procured on the black market, adds a disturbing ritualistic element. In one scene, Presley dips a dummy into the narcotic and forces it into Haley’s mouth, soothing her into a deep sleep. The image of an adult woman pacified like an infant was deeply unsettling.
The play’s atmosphere shifts with the arrival of Cosmo (William Robinson), a grotesquely charismatic intruder who exudes menace. Robinson played him with a bullying cruelty, relishing his own horror-show antics. Cosmo eats live insects and small animals for money and pleasure, forcing Presley to join him in consuming a live cockroach. The moment was so vividly staged that I had to look away; the imagined crunch of the shell, the wriggling body, was enough to make my stomach churn. I wasn’t the only one; I caught another audience member doing the same. This is theatre at its most visceral, confronting its viewers with disgust and fascination all at once.
Cosmo also represents a new danger: his designs on the unconscious Haley are suggested with such precision that they need not be fully acted out. The power of suggestion, rather than explicit depiction, is what makes Ridley’s world so frightening. Max Harrison’s direction leans into this psychological unease, ensuring the play lodges itself in the audience’s imagination.
If Cosmo embodies cruelty with a grin, the later arrival of Pitchfork (Matt Yulish) plunges the play into nightmare territory. Dressed in latex and a gimp mask, towering and screeching, he is a mute figure of threat, a living embodiment of the twins’ darkest fears. Yulish’s physical performance gave the character a surreal, almost demonic energy, and his presence tipped the story from disturbing into terrifying.
The entire cast delivered outstanding performances. Each actor embraced the play’s extremities without flinching, and the result was a production that felt dangerous, unpredictable, risky, and stressful.
I left the King’s Head Theatre shaken, asking myself: What on earth have I just witnessed? And more importantly: What did it mean? The beauty, or perhaps the horror, of Ridley’s work is that it refuses to hand you an answer. For me, it became a story about fear, trauma, and the way people retreat into fantasy when reality is unbearable.
One thing is certain: The Pitchfork Disney is not easily forgotten. It crawls under your skin, haunts your journey home, and lingers in unsettling fragments for days afterwards.
Review by Bernadette Lintunen
“You know why the ghost train is so popular? Because there are no ghosts. Once you’ve learnt that you can make a fortune.”
Ten years ago something terrible happened to Presley and Haley. Since then they’ve lived alone in their dead parents’ house, doors bolted against the terrors of the world. But, one night, Presley sees a beautiful stranger on the street outside. And while his sister sleeps… he invites in their worst nightmare.
CAST in order of appearance
Presley | Ned Costello
Haley | Elizabeth Connick
Cosmo | William Robinson
Pitchfork | Matt Yulish
CREATIVES
Writer | Philip Ridley
Director | Max Harrison
Producer | Zoe Weldon
Set & Costume Designer | Kit Hinchliffe
Lighting Designer | Ben Jacobs
Sound Designer | Sam Glossop
Production Manager | Carrie Croft
Associate Designer | Olivia Gough
General Manager | James Quaife
Stage Manager | Helen Parkin-Moore
Casting Director | Nadine Rennie CDG
Fight Director | Lawrence Carmichael
Intimacy Director | Christina Fulcher
THE PITCHFORK DISNEY
King’s Head Theatre
27 August to 4 October 2025
