Nye at the National Theatre ★★★☆☆
Michael Sheen was born to play Aneurin ‘Nye’ Bevan, the firebrand Welsh politician who in 1948v willed into existence the NHS as we know it. Sheen has been a “not-for-profit” actor since 2021, donating the money from his movies to causes including a fund to help send Welsh kids to Oxford University. When his Bevan rails against the treatment of Welsh miners and the attacks on the welfare state, he speaks with the conviction of a man who believes every word.
It’s a shame the play doesn’t match the talent of its leading man. It’s a bizarre set-up, mostly taking place in the morphine-induced fever-dreams of a dying Bevan (there are shades of BBC drama Life on Mars to the premise). The action jolts from his childhood memories – a stammering schoolboy taking a caning, a wary visit to a pit – to his entry into politics and his famous clashes with the country’s doctors.
Sheen, clad throughout in his stripy hospital pyjamas, navigates these shifts brilliantly, morphing from a wide-eyed lad who can’t believe library books are “free” to a shrewd (if combative) politician unafraid to go toe-to-toe with Winston Churchill. He’s well supported by a huge ensemble cast, with Sharon Small especially notable as his fiery wife Jennie Lee, who expertly plucks the heartstrings during the play’s emotional scenes.
The unreality of the staging allows for some directorial flourishes, some of which land better than others. Nice touches include occupied hospital beds that flip over to become lecterns; Labour leader Clement Attlee driving a motorised desk menacingly across the stage; and a young Bevan floating to the top shelves of the library. On the other hand, I could absolutely have done without the song and dance numbers – including Sheen crooning to Judy Garland hit Get Happy – and the tired, overused projections of looming GPs.
Nye is an unashamed love-letter to the NHS but one that veers into such misty-eyed, unconditional love that it ends up feeling slightly deranged. It doesn’t just lay the emotion on with a trowel – it dumps it upon the audience from the mouth of a JCB. There’s a moment when the dying Bevan is literally carried to heaven in the arms of NHS workers, for God’s sake.
Nye preaches to the choir, feeding the true believers of the National Theatre exactly what they crave. To be fair, it’s one hell of a sermon, expertly delivered by Sheen at his absolute best. But there’s a far cleverer play to be made about this brilliant, flawed man, one that treats the NHS as the fragile and complex machine it is – one that desperately needs our help – rather than a quasi-religious institution to prostrate ourselves before.