Ahead of an upcoming performance at Sheffield Theatres, we sat down with actor and playwright Joe Mallalieu to delve into his gripping one-man production, RUM. Inspired by life on northern building sites, the play explores the internal struggles of working-class masculinity, generational silence and mental health.
Can you give an insight into RUM and the character that you portray?
Anyone who knows someone in the building trade knows the character I’m playing. He’s a “Jack the lad” – likes a drink, likes the women, likes getting into trouble. He’s the king of his castle in a way. RUM is a northern term that reflects a disregard for consequences – the willingness to do anything, no matter the result. For example, if there was a big gang of lads, he’d still be the one to throw the first punch.
Why was plastering the chosen metaphor to convey your message?
Plastering is what I’ve done all my life. It’s a fitting metaphor for how working-class men deal with things day to day. In the trade, we used to say plastering hides a job full of mistakes – once it’s plastered, you can’t see the beams missing or the holes in the wall, so once it’s plastered, it has the feel of a completed building, which isn’t always the case.
Does the play resonate with your youth or your personal life?
It resonates with working-class life. It’s not just my story specifically, but it reflects where I’m from. A lot of the time, it feels more important what people think of you than what you’re actually doing. From a young age, you’re shown what’s important, and you never really question it.
As it’s a one-man show, how do you approach your character to ensure an entertaining and engaging performance?
I did a play earlier this year in London with a five-man cast – that felt playful, like having a laugh and trying new tricks. But a one-man show feels more like a fight. It’s exposing. It tells a full story with a wide range of emotions, and you really have to prepare for it each night. For the London show, we could joke around beforehand. With RUM, I need a full warm-up, I turn my phone off, and get into the zone. It’s scary, for sure, but absolutely worth it.
Do you believe the show has more contemporary relevance regarding toxic masculinity, due to a rise in figures such as Andrew Tate?
My play isn’t about modern, online toxic masculinity. It’s about the kind of masculinity our class has been built on. It’s more than that modern, clickbait version meant to shock. The stuff I’m talking about is what people I grew up with genuinely believed. It’s not something they saw when their bored – it’s generational, passed down from parents and grandparents. The play takes a more honest look at men’s mental health, rather than offering a modern, technological take.
Due to Max Emmerson’s productions being partnered with a men’s suicide prevention group, do you hope this play will inspire men to reach out regarding mental health?
Yeah, I wrote the play with a question in mind: why do working-class men find it so hard to talk about mental health? I hoped someone might watch it and realise that what they’re feeling is something many others feel too, and that it can be discussed. The question of “why can’t we speak?” is something I ask throughout the whole play.
My play isn’t about modern, online toxic masculinity. It’s about the kind of masculinity our class has been built on.
What’s the main message you hope Sheffield and national audiences take away from the show?
As I said, the play is more of a question than a statement, asking why we struggle with mental health. A lot of theatre audiences aren’t usually the target for this kind of story. But the message is there for people like me – to say, ‘I see you.’ And for the typical theatre-goer, it’s a chance to step into our shoes, to understand the challenges of working-class lives. This play gives a three-dimensional look at the character, hopefully breaking stereotypes people might have formed from newspaper headlines.
What misconceptions about mental health are you trying to battle with this production?
From a young age, we’re taught things we never question. There’s a pride in where we’re from – a kind of glory in meeting fire with fire. That pressure isn’t easy to explain to someone who didn’t grow up in it. From the outside, people can judge, but they don’t really understand what we were taught. Building sites are one of the least socially changed environments; the tools to cope with life are the same as they were in the 1950s. Saying you’re in pain is still seen as weak. People don’t understand what it’s like to sit in that chair unless they’ve been there.
Do you believe rum taught you anything personally or as a performer?
I’ve learned so much about myself through this process. It’s been the most challenging thing I’ve ever done. My perception of my creative limits has changed – I’ve realised I’m capable of more than I ever knew. I’ve put myself in this situation, but I know I’m benefiting from it too. When it’s your own words and such a personal story, it makes you want to give everything every time you perform. I feel a duty and a loyalty to the story. And this is just the beginning – I believe RUM could work across other mediums as well.
RUM runs at Sheffield Theatres’ Playhouse, Thursday 7th June. Tickets and more info here.
