REVIEW: The Boys in the Band - Sunnybank Theatre Group

Written by Mart Crowley

Presented by Sunnybank Theatre Group

Directed by Chris O’Leary

The Boys in the Band isn’t your typical birthday bash. It’s an emotionally charged night of booze, banter, and brutal honesty. As Harold arrives to celebrate his birthday, with his trademark sarcasm and an ever-growing fear of fading youth, the party shifts from playful to prickly. He’s joined by Michael, their tightly-wound host barely holding it together, and a parade of friends who bring with them more than a few unresolved issues. But it’s the arrival of Alan, a supposedly straight married man, that upends the night. Alan’s unannounced drop-in throws the group dynamic off balance as he skirts around a mysterious confession and struggles visibly in the company of openly gay men.

As the drinks flow and dinner (and actual birthday cake!) is served mid-scene, facades begin to drop and things take a darker turn. The evening spirals into a game—one that demands each man phone someone they once loved and tell them so—whether or not they ever dared say it aloud. What starts as banter ends in bruised egos and emotional cruelty and plenty of revelations. Written by Mart Crowley in 1968, the play was groundbreaking in its honest portrayal of gay men. It was one of the first to put gay men at the center of a narrative, not as caricatures, but as complicated, layered people. It wasn’t born of activism, but from Crowley’s frustration and truth—and it shocked mainstream audiences who weren’t ready to see queer stories told this openly.

The heart of the play is its ensemble, and the full-cast scenes are vibrant, chaotic, and layered. There’s tension, flirting, teasing, history, or affection beneath every interaction. Michael Ware is sharp and full of mystery as Michael, the host who’s just barely holding it together. He’s got the haughty charm of a house cat—witty, restless, and on edge, he prowls the stage with nervous energy—always teetering on the edge of control. Ware leans into Michael’s contradictions as both ringleader and saboteur: he’s hosting the party and slowly dismantling it at the same time. He captures the self-loathing undertones of the character with striking accuracy, particularly in a tense and believable panic attack.

Michael’s maybe-boyfriend-maybe-ex, Donald, is played with easy charm by Patrick Lockyer. He’s a steadying presence in the chaos—equal parts supportive and slightly detached. Lockyer brings a quiet calm to Ware's storm, and their dynamic adds an interesting emotional layer beneath all the noise.

One by one, the “boys” show up, and the energy in the room practically buzzes. Jackson Poole is an absolute scene-stealer as Emory—the gloriously flamboyant spark-plug of the group. He’s loud, unapologetically proud, and unfiltered, delivering camp and sassy one-liners in all the right doses. Emory’s confident presence would’ve rattled plenty of folks in the ‘60s, and that defiance is part of what makes him so magnetic. His confrontation with Alan (Andrew Roberts), builds slowly from awkward unease to sudden violence with confronting realism. Both actors handle that shift from icy politeness to full-blown aggression with impressive skill.

Andrew Roberts plays Alan with tight-lipped repression and subtle curiosity. You can see him quietly analysing everything around him, his body stiff with discomfort. His fascination with the others never quite reads as judgmental; instead, there way be a quiet longing under the surface. Is denial a river in Egypt? Maybe.

Larry (Mark Richardson) and Hank (Levi Windolf) represent the classic opposites-attract couple: Larry the restless commitment-phobe young stud, and Hank, his quieter, more conservative partner with a hetero-typical past. Their arguments feel laced with long-held frustration, and the actors sell the emotional weight of their differing views on love and monogamy.

Nathias Warkill as Bernard brings a beautifully understated softness and pathos to the room, with glimmers of pain just beneath his librarian calm. His scenes are marked by a sense of longing and quiet resilience, especially as the infamous party game drags long-buried feelings into the light. Thomas Wood is wonderfully endearing as Cowboy—the birthday “gift” with zero awareness and impeccable comedic timing. Every line lands with an awkward thud in the best possible way, and the silences he leaves in his wake are deliciously awkward.

Then, just when you think the dynamic can’t get more chaotic, Harold finally arrives—and Bradley Chapman makes sure it’s worth the wait, with acid-tongued sass and impeccable deadpan delivery. There’s a Nathan Lane-in-The Birdcage flair to him, but Bradley also brings a bitter depth to Harold’s birthday melancholy. His monologues are equal parts cutting and poignant, delivered with the kind of cynicism only a self-proclaimed “ugly, pock-marked Jew fairy” can pull off with style.

The most exhilarating scenes happen when all nine actors are onstage at once, bouncing off each other with overlapping dialogue, shifting alliances, and rhythm that feels both theatrical and true to life. Quips turn cutting. Jokes turn cruel. Resentments and regrets begin to bubble to the surface. The infamous “call someone you love” game is as devastating as it is revealing. Secrets are spilled, bonds are tested, and the illusion of safety crumbles.

The direction by Chris O’Leary keeps the movement natural and fluid. With nine characters on stage for much of the play, it could easily feel cluttered, but the blocking is impressively clear and dynamic. The staging also makes smart use of the space, including the raised bedroom area behind the sheer curtain. However, some moments behind the curtain are difficult to hear due to competing sounds from outside the venue (cars) and inside (a few coughing).

The language, while far from politically correct by today’s standards, is delivered with context and intention—it’s of its time, but not dismissed. And the production never shies away from the discomfort it brings. The set itself feels like an authentic 1970s bachelor pad—earthy tones, stocked bar cart, and rotary phone. It’s a space that feels safe, a haven for found family—until it suddenly doesn’t.

The Boys in the Band is not a light-hearted comedy, though there are moments that will make you laugh out loud. It’s a sharp, emotional, and deeply human play. Sunnybank Theatre Group’s cast pours everything into their performances, and the result is an honest, moving night of theatre that reminds us how far we’ve come—and how far we still have to go.