I did not expect to feel as much as I did. Sitting in that dark room at Soho Theatre, it did not take long before I stopped thinking and just felt. This Bitter Earth starts before you are ready. There is no warning, no soft lead-in. It just drops you in. A kiss. A memory. A monologue. A protest. Then quiet. A different kind of quiet. One that asks you to listen.

Written by Harrison David Rivers and directed by Billy Porter in his UK stage debut, this play is not only about love and identity. It is about what it costs to live with both. It is tender, charged, and brutally honest. Every scene pulled me closer. Every silence held something that was not ready to be spoken out loud.

The stage is bare. A few grey cubes. Tall panels where images flicker. Two performers. That is all. But it is more than enough. Time does not move in a straight line here. It bends. It jumps. One moment we are watching a couple fight, the next we are inside a memory. Then we are inside something deeper. Something more like grief. You do not just follow Jesse. You move with him. You forget where you are. At one point I realised I was holding my breath.

This kind of structure only works when everything else is exact. The rhythm. The pacing. The breath between lines. And here, it works. You feel the care behind every choice. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is wasted.

Jesse, played with quiet intensity by Omari Douglas, speaks directly to the audience. His voice is poetic and precise. Some of the lines stayed with me long after the show ended. Like

“He’s dying of Blackness. Isn’t that fucking hilarious”
“I have known love”
“Take care of your blessings. Your grandmother. Your mother. Your man”

They are not just beautiful. They hurt. And they mean something more when spoken by someone who has lived through the kind of silence this play is filled with.
Throughout the play, Jesse and Neil kiss. Often. In quiet moments. In the middle of arguments. In place of words. The repetition is not romantic for effect. It becomes its own kind of language. A way of asking, are we still here. Are we still holding on.

Alexander Lincoln plays Neil, Jesse’s partner. Their relationship is messy and full of heat. It is not there to comfort. It is there to challenge. Jesse wants to breathe. Neil wants to fix things. Jesse knows what it means to survive. Neil is still learning how to listen. Their love is real. But it is also fragile. And that is what makes it so compelling to watch.

What surprised me most was how much the language felt like protest and poetry at the same time. Essex Hemphill is quoted throughout. His presence is everywhere. In Jesse’s voice. In the rhythm of the lines. In the way memory becomes a kind of resistance. There is a moment where Jesse describes the funeral of a man who died of AIDS. The theatre was so quiet it felt like the walls were listening too.

The actors do not stay on stage. They move through the audience. Around us. Past us. Sometimes near enough to touch. It does something to you. You stop being a viewer. You start to feel responsible. Like you are part of this memory too.

Even before the play began, something happened. Billy Porter stepped out to welcome the audience. The spotlight did not catch him. He stood in the dark. He waited. Then he spoke anyway. It felt unplanned. But maybe it was the most honest image of the night. Being invisible. And still speaking. Still showing up.

This Bitter Earth is not an easy play. But it is a necessary one. It is about what Black queer love carries, even when it is shared with someone outside that experience. It is about memory and how it slips between us. About loss that lingers and joy that refuses to be erased. It is stripped back. Unapologetic. Raw. A storm of language and feeling. Nothing is overdone. Everything matters.

And at its softest, when all the noise fades, you are left with the words

“Take care of your blessings. Your grandmother. Your mother. Your man”

This Bitter Earth at Soho Theatre deserves five stars because it does not look away. It speaks truth with care. It holds its pain and still makes space for love. The performances are unforgettable. The writing is lyrical and alive. The direction is fearless. It is one of the most powerful new plays in London. It stays with you. And it should.

The production is written by Harrison David Rivers and directed by Billy Porter, with scenic and costume design by Morgan Large, sound and soundscape design by Julian Starr, lighting by Lee Curran, original composition by Sean Green, and associate direction by Bronagh Logan. Casting is by Rob Kelly. Produced by Thomas Hopkins, Craig Haffner and Sherry Wright, with co-producers Alex Deacon, Jonathan Kaldor and Kohl Beck.

This Bitter Earth runs at Soho Theatre until 6 July 2025
Tickets available at sohotheatre.com

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