Jack The Ripper is arguably the most famous killer of the Victorian era. There is a fanatical fascination with his case. He is a true crime podcaster’s dream: no confirmed convict, grisly deaths, police incompetence – the list goes on. It is little wonder the myth and mystique of Jack far obscures the reality of his terrible crimes.
Yet The Ripper is not the protagonist of Not a Plot Productions’ musical JACK; playwright Sahar Malaika’s script patently refuses to glorify his killings. While his shadow may loom large over the show, it is his victims who take centre-stage (literally, at points). JACK grants these women a rare opportunity to tell their under-sung story on their own terms.
Indeed, the show acts as an explicit rebuke of the typical narratives attached to Jack The Ripper. Director Rosie Sutton told Cherwell how at “the core of the production… [was the need to] centre the victim. So many narratives about Jack The Ripper are so focused on him and this gruesome murder, but the women are just bodies… they’ve just become objectified.”
It was this ethos that saw both Jack’s victims, and women as a whole, placed “front and centre” – both narratively and onstage. Together, “The Unfortunates”, most of whom were sex workers, form a chorus-like quartet – that of Mary Ann Nichols (Olivia Russell), Annie Chapman (Eleanor Bogie), Elizabeth Stride (Meira Lee), and Catherine Eddowes (Esme Dannatt). Their presence intermittently haunts the stage, emerging onstage at dramatic turning points. The audience are reminded of the very real stakes of the police investigation, as the souls of these women linger still; while The Ripper lives, they cannot rest.
Indeed, The Unfortunates even have physical agency – though employed for metaphorical effect, rather than as actual ghosts. In one case, they physically shunt around the earnest but decidedly flustered Police Constable Alfie Foster (Orla Wyatt). Simultaneously, Mary Kelly, played by an impassioned Nicole Palka, enraged, decries Foster and the police’s “negligence” and “naivete” in handling the case. Mary goes on to proclaim that too many die “for the crime of being a woman”. Indeed, throughout the show, the audience realises the police force’s desperation to solve the murders is driven by a desire to halt the scathing coverage of their investigation by the press. There is little, if any, sympathy displayed for the victims. Such sentiments are embodied in the characterisation of the other police character. Stanley Toyne as the Captain channelled all the uniformed machismo and dispassionate air of authority you would expect from someone of his position.
The show is thus a sharp critique of what Sutton described as “complete inaction” from the police force of the Victorian period. Malaika’s script clearly also denounces the entrenched culture of violence against women of Jack’s London. For instance, Mary’s toxic relationship with the staggering and quick-tempered drunkard John (Henry Nurse) highlights the domestic abuse that was rife at the time. Still, such concerns resonate far beyond the characters’ epoch, in an urgent warning that gender-based violence, misogyny, and femicide are societal plagues that remain with us still.
Staged in the intimate space of St Benet’s Chapel, there was little reprieve from the bleak (though ultimately hopeful) narrative of JACK, as it spirited its audience away to the streets of Victorian London. The ending contained a small but fiery optimism in its reaffirmation of the agency of the women in the narrative.
The cast gave a spirited, if not always flawless, performance during the ensemble sections. JACK’s backing track, pre-recorded and played through speakers at the back of the Chapel was suitably catchy, too, although there were times when I feared the actors were being drowned out by the backing tracks.
The use of the Chapel was creative, given how small the venue was. Characters regularly marched on and fled offstage via the central walkway between the pews. This lent an unexpected but welcome sense of immersion, particularly as the cast prior to the performance had been interacting in-character with the rest of the audience (even Cherwell’s own was at one point approached and asked by one of the Unfortunates if he wanted ‘a good time’!) Props were somewhat sparse but smartly employed.
The attention to detail in the newspapers was especially impressive, replicating the overwhelming walls of text of Victorian periodicals. I do wish more had been made of the red-tape board on Jack, as it was sequestered at the back of the stage – the police/intrigue scenes, in particular, would have been elevated further by its inclusion.
More broadly, the choreography was engaging, with highlights once again being The Unfortunates. For instance, the use of reading aloud newspaper extracts to lead into songs was a clever conceit, with the refrain of ‘Dear Boss!’ (itself an opening to an alleged ‘Ripper’ letter), a catchy hook that ran throughout the play. The final tableaux was particularly striking, with The Unfortunates scattered about onstage abruptly crumpling in a staccato rhythm, amidst a shocking centre-stage set-piece, and another stalwart figure who stood back turned to the audience.
An aspect of the show that was intriguing was the queer romance between Mary and Nell (Sorcha Ní Mheachair). Despite the shorter run time of JACK (roughly an hour), there was still some development in their relationship. It was refreshing to see a narrative centred around women also include queer concerns, given how such experiences can interweave and intersect. It was JACK’s desire to foreground the historically marginalised, and this is something I would argue it achieves.
What I appreciated most about JACK ultimately was its willingness to radically rewrite the myth of The Ripper, in whose retellings women have time and again been denied any voice and agency. JACK’s concerns are not simply those of the 19th century, but equally of the 21st; we are reminded of the team’s desire to condemn “the violence that women suffer … [the] prejudice against women… because of the lives that they’ve led”. Yet this strong feminist and progressive message did not distract from the plot – it was the plot, embedded throughout, and driving the narrative.
JACK may have been named after the killer, but the women are its heroes, its tragedy, and, indeed, by the end its stars.
Review: JACK – ‘Gas-lit showstoppers, intrigue, and murder’
