This Bitter Earth, directed by Billy Porter, at Soho Theatre – review

This Bitter Earth at Soho Theatre is a thoughtful and emotionally charged piece of theatre. Set in New York during the turbulent period surrounding the 2016 US election, the ongoing killings of unarmed Black people by the police, and the 2015 Charleston church shooting, the play holds a mirror to the lived experiences of many, particularly within interracial relationships, and invites reflection on truths that are often unspoken but deeply felt.

Omari Douglas delivers a strong and compelling performance as Jesse. Subtle, magnetic, and emotionally intelligent, he brings quiet complexity to the role, confirming his status as one of British theatre’s most promising talents. His on-stage relationship with Neil (Alexander Lincoln) is deeply convincing. The intimacy between the two feels authentic, drawing the audience into their East Village flat and offering a sense of warmth that contrasts with the harshness of the world outside. At times, however, their closeness feels idealised, occasionally lacking the tension one might expect in a relationship under such emotional strain.

Directed by Billy Porter, the production shows moments of emotional clarity, but it falls short of the theatrical flair and dynamic energy often associated with Porter’s work. His direction feels restrained, and while there is an awareness of rhythm and tone, the overall staging lacks visual inventiveness. The set and costume design by Morgan Large is minimal, but instead of feeling purposeful, it often appears underdeveloped. Lighting, designed by Lee Curran, adds occasional emotional nuance, though it rarely lifts the production into something visually memorable.

The play unfolds through fragmented snapshots in time, with much of the emotional weight residing in small, quiet moments. While this can be effective, the lack of narrative clarity becomes a noticeable issue. Scenes frequently feel disconnected or incomplete, making it hard to follow where the characters are emotionally or temporally. This fragmented storytelling may be intentional, reflecting instability in memory and identity, but it too often leaves the audience feeling unanchored. A recurring allegory of shattered glass is used both visually and sonically to suggest emotional fragility. The sound of cracking glass disrupts moments of calm, acting as a narrative tool that underlines tension, but even this motif doesn’t fully compensate for the lack of cohesion.

A particularly poignant moment occurs when Jesse is cheated on and asks the race of the other man. It is a quiet but devastating exchange, filled with an unspoken fear familiar to many Black audience members: the ache of not feeling enough in white spaces or white relationships. The silence that follows is powerful.

This Bitter Earth is sincere, socially aware, and emotionally thoughtful. However, its lack of narrative clarity and visual energy prevents it from reaching its full potential. While there are moments of genuine impact, they are scattered across a production that too often feels muted and uneven.