It’s not every night that a GCSE English staple can still leave a grown audience gasping – but An Inspector Calls did just that at Sheffield’s Lyceum. Stephen Daldry’s multi-award-winning production (on a major UK tour and nearing the end of its run) proves that J.B. Priestley’s classic thriller has plenty of fire left. This is a play most Brits slog through in school, yet on stage it feels anything but dusty. Instead, we get a taught 1 hour 45 minutes of eerie, hyper-real theatre that grabs you by the lapels and doesn’t let go.
From the moment the lights go down, Daldry’s unusual and striking set commands attention. The Birling family’s posh Edwardian house dominates the stage – a dollhouse-like structure perched on tall stilts above a rain-slicked cobblestone street. It literally looks too big for its own foundations, a perfect metaphor for the Birlings’ pomposity. Below, in the shadows and swirling fog, shabby, working-class figures drift in and out of view, silently watching. It’s a haunting image: the rich literally partying above while the poor gather below. You don’t need an A* in English Lit to get the point, but it’s delivered with such bold, theatrical flair that it sends a shiver down your spine. The atmosphere is cinematic – think Hitchcock meets gothic fairy tale – with ominous music humming and a giant streetlamp casting long shadows through the mist.
Inspector Goole’s dramatic entrance only heightens the tension. One moment the Birlings are toasting themselves behind closed doors; the next, ding dong – here comes trouble. Tim Treloar strides in through the fog like a spectre at the feast, trench coat glistening in the rain. His presence is riveting: playing Goole with a calm, steely authority that borders on otherworldly. When he fixes a character with that penetrating stare, you can almost feel their temperature drop. It’s the perfect catalyst to kick off Priestley’s moral interrogation. One by one, the smugly self-satisfied Birlings find their cosy world cracking open – literally. As the Inspector methodically peels back their pretences, the dollhouse set splits apart on its hinges, opening up to the night air. By the time we reach the climax, the dinner table collapses and crockery comes crashing down, a dramatic flourish that draws fresh gasps from the shocked audience. Talk about bringing down the house – Daldry isn’t shy about his metaphors, but wow, do they land with impact.
Beyond the spectacle, An Inspector Calls still packs a hefty social commentary. Priestley’s 1945 script is a full-throated indictment of complacent privilege – and in 2025 it feels even more relevant. As Inspector Goole grills the Birlings about their role in a young woman’s tragic fate, themes of social responsibility and collective guilt ring out loud and clear. The play might wear its message rather too readily on its sleeve (“we are members of one body” and all that), but this production makes it feel urgent and fresh. There’s an allegorical depth to the whole experience: the Inspector isn’t just solving a mystery, he’s a moral avenger calling out entrenched inequality. Given the state of the world – growing class divides, “never had it so good” business moguls vs. struggling families – Priestley’s plea for compassion could have been written yesterday. It’s no wonder schools keep it on the curriculum. But fear not: this isn’t a dry civics lesson on stage; it’s a gripping thriller that happens to leave you pondering your conscience on the way out.
The performances carry the weight of this message with gusto (for the most part). It’s a small cast tackling big material – six actors holding the stage without an interval, firing off intense monologues and dramatic confrontations. On opening night in Sheffield, a couple of the ensemble felt slightly off their game (perhaps the long tour is taking a toll) – there were moments where energy dipped or lines lost a bit of punch. However, the standout turns more than compensated. As mentioned, Treloar’s Inspector is a commanding force – equal parts gritty detective and ghostly conscience – anchoring the show beautifully. Jackie Morrison, as Sybil Birling, delivers a masterclass in haughty disapproval; she plays the family matriarch with such icy, aristocratic smugness that you relish seeing her put on the spot. George Rowlands also shines in a role that can be tricky – his Eric starts as a tipsy, immature young man, mostly in the background, but ends up an emotional wreck as secrets are revealed. Rowlands brings real intensity to Eric’s breakdown, making it raw and believable.
Crucially, this production nails the eerie tone that elevates An Inspector Calls from straightforward drawing-room drama to something otherworldly. The combination of Rick Fisher’s stark lighting (watch how it shifts from warm dinner-party glow to harsh interrogation spotlight) and Stephen Warbeck’s menacing score keeps the tension simmering throughout. Sudden blackouts, the echo of a distant air-raid siren, the way the Inspector seems to materialise out of thin air whenever a character tries to escape – it all creates an uneasy, hyper-real mood.
Overall, this adaptation of the famous play offers an immersive theatrical feast with plenty of moral bite, and even if you know the tale inside out, there are enough hidden depths to make it well worth watching.
4/5
