Retrograde - Apollo Theatre: It is history, it is right now, and it is absolutely necessary

⭑ ⭑ ⭑ ⭑ ⭑ - 97% • 3 minutes 54 second read time

Some plays entertain, some educate, and some hit like a gut punch. Retrograde does all three. Ryan Calais Cameron has crafted something extraordinary - sharp, absorbing, and so immediate it feels like it could be happening right now rather than in 1955. It is history, but it is also the present.

Set in a single room over 90 tense minutes, the play places us in the early days of Sidney Poitier’s career. He has talent, ambition, and an opportunity that could change his life. But it’s 1955, and 1955 USA is wrought with tension. The Civil Rights Movement is building momentum, Anti Fascism or criticism of the US is synonymous with Communism, McCarthyism is in full swing. Bobby, his friend and an idealistic white writer, has written a film with Sidney in mind for the lead. All that stands between him and this chance is one meeting with Mr Parks, a Hollywood lawyer who claims to be on his side. But in a world ruled by fear, control, and quiet coercion, nothing is that simple. The conversation becomes a high-stakes negotiation, not just of contracts, but of ideals, identity, and integrity. The question isn’t just whether Sidney will sign - it’s whether he can do so without compromising himself in a way that can never be undone.

Cameron’s writing is blisteringly good. Every line is purposeful, every exchange charged with something deeper. The way the dialogue shifts between sharp comedy and unbearable tension is masterful, each joke carrying an edge, each pause weighed down with meaning. The verbal sparring between Bobby and Mr Parks is a highlight - a dance of wit and manipulation that is just as thrilling as any physical confrontation. But the most powerful moments come in silence, in hesitation, in the spaces between words where a man is calculating what he can and cannot afford to say.

It’s a painfully clever title. Retrograde - to move backwards. That is the choice Sidney faces. Is success worth it if it means erasing parts of yourself to fit a mould someone else has made? Can you call it progress if the price is your voice? These are not questions confined to history. They are just as urgent now as they were then. Cameron doesn’t just show us a past moment of injustice - he holds up a mirror to today, forcing us to ask ourselves what compromises we make, what we turn a blind eye to, and how much we are willing to sacrifice for the illusion of security.

A script like this demands exceptional performances, and all three actors deliver in full force.

Oliver Johnstone brings an unsettling charm to Bobby, capturing the contradictions of a man who wants to be an ally but doesn’t yet understand what that actually means. He brings an earnestness to the role that makes Bobby easy to like, but also a blindness that makes him frustrating. He is the kind of person who insists he doesn’t see colour until he is confronted with the reality of what that really means. Watching his slow, uncomfortable realisation is fascinating - and Johnstone plays it with just the right amount of awkwardness and internal conflict.

Stanley Townsend as Mr Parks is a lesson in power plays. He is charm and menace wrapped into one, exuding a quiet authority that is impossible to ignore. He rarely needs to raise his voice, because his power is in the unspoken, in the insinuations, and in the way he twists logic to make oppression sound reasonable. There is a slickness to him that makes it easy to see why people would want to believe him, even as the trap he’s laying becomes more and more obvious. He is the perfect embodiment of institutional power - smiling as he twists the knife, and Townsend makes every word land with precision, every smile feel like a veiled warning. It’s a performance that leaves you cold in the best way.

And then there is Ivanno Jeremiah as Sidney Poitier, who is reprising the role and it’s easy to see why. He’s astonishing. He begins the play contained, careful, measured - a man who knows that in a room like this, every word, every movement carries weight. But as the conversation intensifies, so does his presence. The anger that he has spent a lifetime suppressing begins to rise, the perfectly controlled exterior starts to crack, the voice he has trained himself to keep steady begins to shift. It’s a masterful transformation - subtle, gradual, and all the more powerful for it. By the time the play reaches its final moments, Jeremiah is commanding the stage in a way that feels unstoppable. You can’t take your eyes off him.

Cameron has already proven himself to be one of the most exciting writers of this generation, but Retrograde takes his work to another level. For Black Boys was a triumph, but this feels even more assured. The control, the craft, the intelligence behind every moment - it’s staggering. This is writing that doesn’t just tell a story, but makes you feel its weight, its urgency, its necessity. He’s a generational talent who has worked to craft that into generational skill. Any lover of storytelling should be deeply grateful to be around right now to experience his storytelling first hand, it is a gift.

If you care about storytelling, about history, about the world we are living in, then Retrograde is unmissable. It is laughter, it is pain, it is history, it is right now, and it is absolutely necessary.

Retrograde is playing at the Apollo Theatre until June 14th.