Black Diamonds and the Blue Brazil
★★★☆☆ Subtly resonant
Lyceum: Fri 8 – Sat 23 May 2026
Review by Hugh Simpson
Black Diamonds and the Blue Brazil at the Lyceum is a sensitive exploration of community, family and football that has much to commend it, but stretches itself a little thin.
Inspired by Ron Ferguson’s 1993 book, Gary McNair’s play was originally a Sound Stage audio drama back in COVID times, and is now a full-blown theatrical production with songs written and performed by Ricky Ross.
Dawn Steele. Pic: Aly Wight.
Dawn Steele is Sally, a would-be London high-flyer forced to return to her home town of Cowdenbeath after the death of her father, a former miner (the coal being the ‘black diamonds’) and fervent supporter of the local football team (the self-mockingly named ‘Blue Brazil’).
Steele’s performance is a remarkable one. Aside from the musical interludes, and appearances from Barrie Hunter as her father as she grapples with his memory, she has to carry the drama pretty much single-handed.
There’s an uncertain start, as she engages in audience banter of the ‘hands up if you’ve heard of Cowdenbeath’ type. It has the air of getting your retaliation in first, by being patronising about the subject matter before anyone else has the chance.
Engaging and sympathetic
Thereafter, however, it’s a thoroughly assured display. Engaging and sympathetic, Steele’s portrayal disguises the fact that the character does not necessarily develop as much as you might expect over what is essentially a two-hour monologue.
While the writing is funny, sharp, and full of humanity, the whole thing does feel too long. It’s a low-key affair, full of regrets and half-confronted emotions, and as such does not really expand to fit the time available.
Barrie Hunter with Dawn Steele. Pic: Aly Wight
There’s also a problem with the way the central plot is played out. Dad’s last wish is to have his ashes scattered on the centre spot at his beloved Central Park. The trouble is that it has to be after a victory, and in 1992 newly-promoted Cowdenbeath were about to embark on a run that was to become legendary for its lack of wins.
There was a running joke at the time about the fondly-remembered football fanzines referenced in the script. They always had a feature about the journey to an away game, described in such minute detail it wasn’t necessarily of much interest to fans, let alone outsiders. And here, the listing a series of home defeats (and the occasional draw) has the same problem. It’s all a bit repetitive, too insubstantial to sustain the narrative, and doesn’t exactly sparkle.
pawky humour
There’s still so much to admire here, however. James Brining’s direction is wonderfully subtle, while Dad’s pawky humour and deep reserves of hidden emotion are given life beautifully by Barrie Hunter. Once again, however, each time he appears his impact is slightly lessened rather than enhanced.
Jessica Worrall’s set, a slightly down-at-heel social club function room, is wonderfully evocative, Simon Wilkinson’s lighting is tremendously versatile and elegantly directed, and Pippa Murphy’s sound design is eloquent and clear.
Ricky Ross. Pic: Aly Wight.
The plangent bluesy, folky songs of Ricky Ross add a melancholy edge, enhanced by the spare piano accompaniment. Once again, perhaps there are too many of them, and often the lyrics just reinforce things that have already been overtly stated in the dialogue. There is also the unavoidable question, as so often in such productions, of whether it needs songs at all.
In the end, this is just a bit too careful and too familiar. There is certainly resonance in the understated portrayals of home and family, and of the role of football, but the material about love and loss always falls short of the gut-punch it permanently seems on the point of delivering.
the very lifeblood and soul of football
Some things are made just too explicit and hammered home, while other issues are skated over when they cry out to be addressed – a problem the extended running time just emphasises. Teams like Cowdenbeath that depend entirely on the work of volunteers, and are always one utility bill away from disaster, are the very lifeblood and soul of football. Full disclosure – I spent years deeply involved in the running of one myself (although not in Scotland).
Such organisations should never be sentimentalised or patronised, and glory-hunting fans of bigger clubs invariably do one or the other. To its credit, after the opening mis-step this production almost completely avoids the patronising element, although the sentimentality is definitely in evidence.
Ricky Ross and Dawn Steele. Pic: Aly Wight.
The place for such community clubs is also probably not in the second tier of a national football league, which is where Cowdenbeath were then. The reason that teams could have such regular disastrous runs were because Scottish football’s backward-looking, insular attitudes traditionally has it operating through naked self-interest and as a cartel run for the benefit of a few.
This led to a closed shop where, unlike in England, for over a century there was not even the threat of facing re-election. The same few clubs could be perennial non-achievers, and a couple (not from Fife) even gloried in their own failure. The play does fall into this trap, with complete ineptitude being somewhat celebrated.
languishing in lower reaches
Nowadays there is promotion from the non-league system through a play-off. It is still difficult to leave the league downwards, as the system is weighted in favour of incumbents, with teams wanting to come up required to have facilities that many teams already in the league don’t possess.
Some have gone down, however. Cowdenbeath are among them, as since the time depicted here a period of canny managerial appointments was followed by ill-advised decisions that left them (like the other Central belt escapees from the league proper) languishing in lower reaches of the Lowland League with little sign of recovery.
Dawn Steele with Ricky Ross. Pic: Aly Wight
While England has its own nightmarish assortment of crypto bros and despotic foreign regimes as club owners, the vast majority of institutions in Scottish football are still run as what are often criticised as ‘neighbourhood bowling clubs’ – which is unfair to the care and foresight with which your average bowling club is run.
Scottish football as a whole is a small-minded boys’ game, exploiting the fans who, as this production reminds us, can’t ever walk away however much logic says they should. This is down to loyalty, friendship, family, investment in their community, and sheer thrawn bloody-mindedness.
cosy familiarity
While Cowden never had thousands of fans, they always had some and still do. The way Scottish football is run, it trades on their loyalty and that of countless others like them, giving nothing back in return.
The fans of Cowdenbeath were always exploited, and then ultimately betrayed, just as the workers of the Fife coalfield were. This production starts to confront all that, but in the end it opts for a little too much cosy familiarity.
Running time: Two hours and 10 minutes (including one interval).
Lyceum, Grindlay St, EH3 9AX
Fri 8 – Sat 23 May 2026
Tue – Sat: 7.30pm. Mats Thurs 14, Wed 20, Sats 16 & 23: 2.30pm..
Æ review of 2021 Soundstage production: ★★★☆☆ Human
Tickets and details: Book here.
Barrie Hunter. Pic: Aly Wight
ENDS
