The Ministry of Lesbian Affairs at the Kiln Theatre – review

When I see a blurb including a “ragtag” band of misfits involved in something heartwarming, I do have a tendency to assume it’s going to be a bit rubbish. Pardon the scepticism, but “heartwarming” is an exceedingly hard thing to do well, and a very easy thing to do mawkishly.

But I am ready to be proven wrong, and with The Ministry of Lesbian Affairs, I absolutely have been. Iman Qureshi’s script is truly charming, and a whole lot funnier than it has any business being.

A group of (ahem) ragtag misfits meets every Saturday afternoon and attempts to form a choir, that is, if enough people show. It’s the best lesbian choir in the country – the only lesbian choir in the country, in fact – and so they’re in with a chance of performing at this year’s Pride mainstage, if only they can get their act together.

It’s a play of two halves, the first a wholesome “found family” narrative, the second a slightly spikier discussion around inclusion. Qureshi does well to neither skirt tricky issues nor relegate someone entirely to their worst trait or opinion.

Thank goodness, everyone can sing. Qureshi’s song choices and Nicola T Chang and Viki Calver’s arrangements are a total joy, and while the choir sees some progress throughout, they are a pleasure to listen to from the start. A highlight has to be “Carmina Burana”, no small feat for a choir of seven.

Shuna Snow, taking the choir lead as Connie, has the energy of a “cool” Church of England vicar mixed with a small bird, exceedingly British and yet entirely harmless. She conducts with her whole body, her cloud of curls bobbing joyously along.

In fact, Stuart Burt’s casting as a whole is excellent. Fanta Barrie, playing Ellie, the group’s lothario, is alarmingly endearing, handing out sly winks all over the shop, and Serena Mantenghi, playing Dina, a closeted but desperately concupiscent lesbian who knows absolutely nothing about the culture, toes the line perfectly between silly and sincere.

Indeed, everyone is toeing a line, trying to do and say the right thing, and failing regularly. But the choir is a safe space to fail, so long as you’re making the effort. It sounds grossly saccharine, but Qureshi has struck just the right balance, cutting off the winsomeness in a regular and timely fashion with a joke about “saggy ball sacks” or “Lesbian bed death”.

That said, you can tell the crowd is friendly because they give Georgie Henley a huge laugh when she laments, “Everyone knows moving from a soprano to an alto is a demotion.” I hear you, buddy.

Anna Reid’s design sees a proscenium within a proscenium, separated by a curtain. This allows for two sets to be left mostly alone – one the choir rehearsal space, and the other Dina’s padded-cell-like flat. The latter is only used twice, demonstrating Dina’s claustrophobic domestic life, while the rest are free to roam, entangled as they may be in their own messes.

During these troubled times, The Ministry of Lesbian Affairs is a tonic. You should really go see it now, because if it gets a West End transfer, it won’t be nearly as intimate, and it’ll be at least double the price… and deservedly so.