Review: 84 Charring Cross Road at Ensemble Theatre

Review by Nola Bartolo 

There’s something quietly rebellious about a play built on letters in a world that lives at the speed of thumbs. At Ensemble Theatre, 84 Charring Cross Road doesn’t just lean into that nostalgia, it wraps you in it like a well-worn cardigan that still carries someone else’s perfume, or more aptly, like reading a book already filled with another’s thoughts in the margins.

In today’s world of instant messages, DMs, snaps and fleeting exchanges, the art of letter writing feels like a relic left on a dusty shelf. And yet, here it breathes. This production gently insists that words, when given time, weight and ink, can build something far more enduring than a double tap.

The stage is set with delicate intelligence, two cities distinctly drawn. Helene’s apartment in New York on one side, and a quaint London bookshop on the other, at yes, you guessed it, 84 Charring Cross Road. Between them sits an ocean felt more than seen, stretching not just distance, but longing, wit, restraint and, ultimately, connection. The space is cleverly utilised and though not large, set and costume designer Nick Fry creates two fully realised worlds within a single frame. It never feels cramped, only considered. The overall effect is cinematic, as though we are watching a memory unfold.

Based on the true story by Helene Hanff and adapted by James Roose-Evans, the play unfolds entirely through correspondence, a risky structure that, under the direction of Mark Kilmurry, feels anything but static. It pulses with life. Letters become conversations. Pauses become ache.

At its centre is the delicious contrast between a sharp-tongued, warm-hearted New York writer and a quietly dignified London bookseller. Erik Thomson brings a grounded stillness, allowing emotion to seep through the cracks rather than spill over, while Blazey Best is all spark and spirit, her presence lighting the stage with a kind of literary electricity. Her New York accent is particularly impressive, never slipping into caricature, always anchored in truth. Across the cast, the accents are handled with effortless confidence, no small feat. Credit must go to dialect coach Linda Nicholls-Gidley. The actors are clearly in safe hands, and it shows in every vowel and turn of phrase.

The supporting cast, Katie Fitchett, Angela Mahlatjie and Brian Meegan, add texture and warmth, embodying a world that exists just beyond the edges of each letter. There is a generosity in their performances that mirrors the generosity of the story itself.

What lingers is not just the charm, though there is plenty of that, but the quiet reminder that connection does not need immediacy to be meaningful. In fact, it may thrive without it. This is a story about time, taking it, giving it, and what can grow in the space between.

It is heartwarming without being sentimental, funny without trying too hard, and gently devastating when you least expect it. Like finding a letter years later and realising it still knows exactly where to touch.

I walked in not knowing too much and left completely captured, in tears.

Image Credit: Prudence Upton