Let’s start with the good stuff – the set works very well. Roy Williams’ Category B takes place in an unnamed UK prison, and Rosa Maggiora’s skeletal staircase sketches in the backdrop nicely, as well as merging neatly with the Tricycle’s existing metal framework. Other positives - Williams has an excellent ear for dialogue, a sharp eye for detail and his writing is shot through with a great sense of mischief.

Unfortunately, Williams’ skills haven’t combined well in this zesty but somewhat overblown prison drama. Put simply, Williams has given himself too much plot to handle. What starts as a promising, feisty observational piece, casting light on a prison system kept largely in the dark, quickly descends into melodrama with more twists than an episode of The Bill. There’s little Williams can do to pull things back and the plot, in its eagerness to surge ahead, tramples over the play’s characters, atmosphere and authenticity.

It’s a shame, because there are some catchy stories in here that, if teased out correctly, could have fizzed into life to interesting effect. The play opens with young offender Rio’s first day in jail, following his recent involvement in a suspected gang rape. But although Category B turns out to be Rio’s story, he doesn’t re-emerge from the shadows until late in the first half. Instead, we spend a lot of time with the ‘extra’ inmates – the dodgy drug dealers, one with a particular passion for Star Wars and all with family they love back home - which is good fun, but not always necessary and never hugely convincing. The bad guys feel suspiciously safe (particularly Abhin Galeya’s Riz, who has a nice glint in his eye but needs to be much harder) and though Williams paints them with lots of colours, he lays it on too thick and the cracks start to show.

What we should have seen more of is Rio’s relationship with fellow inmate Errol (Karl Collins) who, we learn after plot-twists aplenty, just happens to be Rio’s long-lost father. It is this relationship that glues the play together, but we only see it in flashes and the two spend little time together, bar a few pivotal and pushed moments. Williams is left with too much catching up to do and, in the second half, as Rio carries out increasingly extreme actions in the name of filial love, the plot starts to feel a little silly – the scenes lashing around in the dark for emotions that have barely begun to bubble to the surface. 

These near-empty emotional outbursts pop up throughout the piece, especially when Rio and Errol are involved. In the final scene, Errol – now on parole thanks to his son’s sacrifice – discovers his half-hearted attempt to protect his son inside has gone awry. Collins has got fire in his eyes and a radiating presence on stage, but the play hasn’t prepared him well for this moment and his breakdown – wailing, writhing and growling in disappear – is awkward rather than affecting.

The scenes in the guards’ quarters feel equally shaky – I just don’t believe in any of the characters, which makes it hard to respond to the system they supposedly represent. At the heart of the guards’ lair is Sharon-Duncan Brewster’s Ange – matriarch of the prison, feared and fancied in equal measure. Ange’s rule of terror (as well as her later change of heart) is meant to say big, bad things about the corrupt underbelly of the UK prison system, but Brewster simply isn’t scary enough and it’s hard to imagine these thundering, towering prisoners cowering in her wake.

Paulette Randall’s clunky direction doesn’t help to smooth over the cracks, with every scene change heralded by a sombre sweep from the violins (later, when things get darker – persistent, heavy cello chords), along with the heavy clanging of prison doors. It starts to feel oppressive in the worst sense of the word and, whilst the play ends with Errol scrambling to get back inside, I was happy to slip away. 

Till 29 December 2009