Last Updated on February 11, 2026
Last Night a DJ Saved My Life
4.0 out of 5.0 starsLast night I was in the recently refurbished Dorfman Theatre at the National for End, the final part of David Eldridge’s trilogy of plays about love in the context of relationships. Beginning, the first of the three plays, was set in November 2015, Middle in February 2016 and End in June 2016, just four days before the Brexit vote.
The play is a two-hander starring Clive Owen (Closer) and Saskia Reeves (Catherine Standish in Slow Horses) as Alfie and Julie, a successful Gen X couple both aged 59 and living in Highgate. The ninety-minute one-act play has the couple wrestling with the emotional turmoil caused by Alfie’s terminal cancer diagnosis as they try to negotiate their way through this ultimate disruption to their comfortable life. Nothing much happens as they swear at each other affectionately, joke, fight, kiss and make love while trying to make sense of this twist of fate.
Set and Costume Designer Gary McCann has created an authentic simulacrum of a North London kitchen/living space that illuminates the couple’s story. There’s a stained Victorian glass front door, a modern-looking kitchen dominated by a behemoth of a stainless-steel fridge, books for her, vinyl, CDs and a stereo for him. A yellow smiley face is a memory of long, drugged-up Ibiza summers with their then young daughter, and there is a signed and framed Paolo di Canio West Ham football shirt on the wall. There isn’t a yoga mat, they don’t drink green tea, there are no Labour party leaflets, and it’s bacon sandwiches for lunch. These are not North London intellectuals but working-class refugees who have bought their way into the ‘cool’ villages full of media types through commodifying their talents.
Clive Owen’s Alfie had been a successful house music DJ emerging out of the burgeoning London scene of the late 1980s. An Essex boy with East End parents, he now needs a stick to walk and seeks solace in memories of his parents, his beloved West Ham and the world of house music. There is a paean to the glories of the Roland 909 drum machine’s bass drum and memories of the final West Ham home match at the iconic Upton Park stadium. Dressed in a Hammers tracksuit top and sliders, he tries to convince Julie to allow him to forgo any further treatment and to die alone in a hospice away from her and their daughter Annabel, an unseen but powerful presence in the story. Even more alarming for Julie is the fact that Alfie wants to be buried with his parents in Essex and not ‘with Karl Marx’ in the more local Highgate cemetery. Owen fully inhabits the part, limping and grimacing from the constant pain, struggling to come to terms with his past misdemeanours and attempting to acknowledge and express his emotions. It’s a painful watch as he struggles with his fear and anger, but also painfully comedic as he struggles to stand with Julie, too distracted to come and help as she chats on the phone to their daughter. David Eldridge’s message is clear: for this MDMA/Ecstasy generation, the emotional closeness brought about by the drug has become normalised away from the club floor.
Julie is an ex-teacher turned writer who is now a best-selling crime novelist. Reeves, decked out in low-top sneakers and a blue wrap dress, tries to mediate her distress through narrativising it, planning a book about her and Alfie’s story, much to his annoyance. Stories alongside endless cups of tea are her safe space, and after a stormy row with Alfie, Julie finally externalises her distress by smashing her family heirloom china teapot on the kitchen floor. In a happier moment, she dances seductively around Alfie before pulling her knickers off and allowing him the opportunity to have one last shag on the sofa. Reeves is the queen of internalisation, carrying the burden of Alfie’s six-month affair with his road manager without letting it destroy her or their relationship. The character embodies a quiet stoicism not unlike her character in Slow Horses, and Reeves pulls off a low-key bravura performance.
The Lyric Hammersmith’s Artistic Director Rachel O’Riordan’s direction focuses on delineating the couple’s emotional journeys as well as bringing out the humour of which there is plenty in David Eldridge’s script. The play isn’t without its problems. Eldridge is a little too much in love with his characters, who are slightly too perfect, too emotionally literate and in Julie’s case, too forgiving to be totally credible. It presents a sentimentalised view of the rave scene and working-class culture without confronting the dark underbelly. The actors occasionally slip in and out of their accents, and there seems to be a problem with the timeline. If the characters are 59 years old in 2016, they would have been born in 1957, which is firmly in boomer territory. I was born in 1961, and my friends were not going to raves. House music DJ eminence grise Danny Rampling was also born in 1961 and was older than most of his contemporaries, so 1957 feels unlikely.
But there is also a lot to love in the play, which is full of humanity, as well as making us confront our own mortality and think about how we might plan for a good death. The ending is as happy as it could be in the circumstances, and the two actors are compelling to watch. As the rave generation picks up their free Oyster passes, DJ culture is being examined in the cultural mainstream, both with this play and Amy Winehouse producer Mark Ronson’s recent excellent book about his early years in New York as a hip-hop DJ. Just remember to save your best record for the end.
Until 17 January 2026
Dorfman Theatre
National Theatre
Upper Ground,
South Bank
London SE1 9PX
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