The 39 Steps

Derby Theatre, 1 October 2026

There are some productions where explaining the plot feels vitally important, and then there is The 39 Steps, where the plot is really just a useful device on which to hang two hours of glorious theatrical lunacy.

Adapted by Patrick Barlow from John Buchan’s novel and Alfred Hitchcock’s 1935 film, The 39 Steps follows Richard Hannay, a suavely respectable gentleman whose quiet existence is disrupted when a mysterious woman is murdered in his London flat. Accused of the crime, Hannay flees north, beginning a frantic pursuit across Britain involving spies, policemen, trains, the Scottish moors and some rather important national secrets – but honestly? The plot might be the least important thing about it.

Directed by Cal McCrystal, this Derby Theatre and Hull Truck Theatre production is a tour de force of physical comedy, clowning and gleefully self-aware theatrical invention. Described as Hitchcock meets Monty Python, it takes the premise that Hitchcock’s film is already just a little bit ridiculous and expands that notion into an entire theatrical world.

The result is chaotic, physical, joyous, sincere and utterly crackpot. Pantomime collides with farce; slapstick meets melodrama; clowning gives way to theatrical sleight of hand. Sometimes the cast switch genres within seconds and directly in front of our eyes. At other points, they seem to invent entirely new ones, and slide in and out of character with such ease, they make the audience feel utterly in on every joke.

Ryan Starling is a perfect Hannay, embodying the debonair leading man while never losing sight of the ridiculousness of his predicament. His complete commitment to Hannay’s increasingly ludicrous plight, combining restoration comedy sincerity with impeccable farcical instincts, is exactly what makes it so funny. He gives us the illusion of the straight man at the centre of the chaos, while every beautifully judged look, reaction and piece of physical comedy reveals an exceptionally accomplished comic performer.

Local actor Sophie Bloor tackles the various incarnations of Hitchcock’s leading lady with similar dexterity, most notably Annabella and Pamela. With the sultriness the genre demands, she throws herself wholeheartedly into the physical comedy. She finds laughs in a look or movement as readily as a punchline; glamorous when required, gloriously silly when not. Somehow, Bloor manages to send up the Hitchcock leading lady while simultaneously giving us a rather brilliant one.

But Kathryn Perkins and James Keningale, rather inadequately credited simply as “Clown”, are astonishing. Between them they populate what feels like most of Britain: ageing cleaners, Cockney milkmen, officers from the Met, assorted Scots, spectacularly creepy and highly sexualised hotel owners, villains, neo-Nazis and seemingly anyone else Hannay encounters emerge at breakneck speed, with costumes, voices, bodies and entire personalities transforming before our eyes.

Their joyous clowning is among the best I have seen, combining impeccably controlled physical comedy with the illusion that everything might be about to go catastrophically wrong. At one point we even get a London Palladium-worthy magic act. They establish the rules immediately on arrival, informing us that the production contains four actors, “two of whom are incredibly talented”, and inviting us to work out which two.

Then there is Tom Mitchell. Officially credited as Understudy, Mitchell spends much of the evening ostensibly there simply to move the furniture. What should be the invisible business of shifting scenery is anything but, as Mitchell appears constitutionally incapable of crossing the stage without attempting to steal it. His increasingly brazen determination to insert himself into the action is beautifully played, and what begins as a seemingly throwaway gag develops a glorious life of its own.

The kind of nonsense this production requires, only works when executed with absolute discipline, and McCrystal’s direction is exceptional. The production looks anarchic, but every entrance, pause, prop, transformation and apparent disaster has been engineered to land.

Jen McGinley’s modular design facilitates that fluidity, but it is Chris Vance’s exquisite video design that transports us effortlessly from a London flat onto speeding trains and across the Scottish landscape. Acting simultaneously as scenery, atmosphere and a complete storytelling device, it allows the production to hurtle onwards without losing momentum while retaining the cinematic sweep of the story it is cheerfully dismantling.

For all its affectionate mockery of Hitchcock, melodrama and British theatrical conventions, there is nothing cynical about this production.

Some jokes are clever, some are gloriously stupid and some are unashamedly panto. We think we spotted five Hitchcock references, but there may have been more. And sometimes you can see a joke approaching from several miles away and it still lands because the company commit to it with such infectious joy.

The packed audience laugh out loud almost continuously, caught up in a production that rebels in that immediate shared experience of theatre: performer and audience recognising the absurdity together and collectively agreeing to run with it.

Chaotic, inventive, warm and completely ridiculous, The 39 Steps is theatrical silliness executed with serious skill.

Chaotic, inventive, warm and completely ridiculous, The 39 Steps is theatrical silliness executed with serious skill.

Absolutely wonderful.

Photo credit: Graeme Braidwood