Readers on the plays that changed their lives: ‘It gave me access to a world that seemed elite’

As part of the Guardian’s series on “the play that changed my life”, leading voices from the arts and beyond have been sharing their momentous theatrical discoveries. We asked readers to do the same, and here are some of their responses.
For Black Boys …, Royal Court theatre, 2022
As a box office assistant, I have seen too much theatre – hundreds if not thousands of shows. But I feel incredibly lucky to have seen the last performance of For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When the Hue Gets Too Heavy by Ryan Calais Cameron, when it finished its run at the Royal Court. Every facet of the play was exceptional, including the audience. I’ve never been in an auditorium so engrossed, ready to sing along and invested in the story. After a standing ovation, the cast pointed to Mr Calais Cameron who was sat in the audience and stood up for his rightly deserved applause. And as the audience made its way out – sobbing, mostly – a middle-aged gentleman pointed up to Mr Calais Cameron and said “thank you for writing this” to another burst of applause. It was heartwarming and beautiful to see an audience member who felt so seen by this show. It was simply a privilege to see it. Felicity Hughes, 28, box office assistant, London
Hamlet, Citizens theatre, Glasgow, 1970
I was in my last year at a very strait-laced, all-girls boarding school near Glasgow. We were studying Hamlet for our higher English and our teacher thought it would help our exam preparation to see a production of the play. I very my doubt our teacher – who was definitely not of Miss Jean Brodie’s ilk – had any idea of what she was exposing us to, literally. I distinctly remember some of the male characters wearing G-strings, though I can find no reference to that subsequently. And then came Hamlet’s speech to Ophelia in act three scene two, when he says: “Do you think I meant country matters?”, very clearly pronouncing “country” as “cunt-try”. I nearly fell off my seat. It was thrilling to experience Giles Havergal’s avant garde production, with an all-male cast, and definite homoerotic undertones. At 17, it opened my eyes to the potential for theatre to be subversive and to challenge convention, and it turned me into an avid theatregoer over the past 50 years. Patricia Scotland, retired civil servant, Edinburgh
Arabian Nights, Bretton Hall, 1978
I was fortunate to study at Bretton Hall in the 70s. One term, we had the theatre company Shared Experience in residence working with us and on their next project with the legendary Mike Alfreds. They performed Arabian Nights at the college and I saw it three times. It was an astonishing minimalist piece of epic storytelling that relied completely on the actor and the director – no set, no lights, no costume – and it was captivating. It had Pam Ferris in the cast, as I remember, and Raad Rawi playing a baby. It has stayed with me for nearly 50 years as a model of what theatre can achieve as a truly shared experience. John Bennett, 67, retired university lecturer, Kirkcudbright, Scotland
Wit, Denver Center for Performing Arts, 2019
My mother and I saw Wit, written by Margaret Edson, at the Denver Center for Performing Arts. When the play ended, there was absolute, complete stillness – no one in the theatre moved. Absolutely no one. We just all sat there, stunned. There was the most incredible silence until one person stifled a sob and everyone around us, including me and my mother, started quietly weeping. Neither one of us has ever been so moved by a performance. It was an experience my mother and I often spoke about until her death. Even sharing this now moves me tremendously. The writing, acting, stage design and lighting – every detail – was so exquisitely executed, we felt as though we were living Vivian’s life in those moments on stage, not as theatre patrons, but as friends and family who were witnessing these moments in her life and death. Lori, 61, retired, Denver, Colorado
Arsenic and Old Lace, Citizens theatre, Glasgow, 1984
I saw Arsenic and Old Lace at the Citizens theatre in Glasgow around 1984. A school friend took me and it was the first time that I had been to a theatre to see anything other than a pantomime. Experiencing a play in a theatre is completely different from watching a film; you become a part of the story, the emotional connection to the characters is stronger: you are part of something that will never be repeated. Seeing this play started a lifelong love of theatre for a working-class girl. I experienced so many emotions, and have been to many plays since, introducing my partner to live theatre that doesn’t involve music. It gave me access to a world that always seemed elite to me, beyond my family’s experience. I am now passionate about access to theatre for all children regardless of their social background. Hazel Reid, 54, retired traffic engineer, Isle of Man
Hedwig and the Angry Inch, Seattle, 2000
I was blown away by Hedwig and the Angry Inch when I saw it in a small bar in Seattle in 2000. The lead, Nick Garrison, was incredible. The powerful embrace of queer culture, love of the “crypto-homo rockers” and finding wholeness despite heartbreak was compelling and moving. John Cameron Mitchell and Stephen Trask captured so much of the experience of feeling like an outsider, while confirming that we are part of a magical community. I know every song by heart and will likely get the iconic Hedwig tattoo at some point in my life. Samantha Chandler, 55, English teacher, Washington, USA
Hamlet, National Theatre, 1989
On 13 November 1989, when I was an A-level English student, I saw Ian Charleson as Hamlet (replacing Daniel Day-Lewis) at the National Theatre. It wasn’t what I expected from a four-hour tragedy: it was funny, light on its feet, effortless. I discovered years later that my wife was also in the audience that night. Charleson was magnificent: so natural, so charismatic. He appeared to be the sanest character in Elsinore. He seemed physically different from how he’d appeared in Chariots of Fire, and he carried a sort of imposed maturity. I have since discovered that this is what losing a parent does to you. I was shocked when, six weeks later, I stumbled across Charleson’s obituary. He’d been living with HIV, and I read of his struggle to keep performing as his health deteriorated. He’d given his final performance on 13 November. Lucas Hare, 52, actor, Hertfordshire
The Jungle, Playhouse theatre, London, 2018
The play that changed my life was The Jungle by Joe Robertson and Joe Murphy at the Playhouse theatre. I booked tickets not really appreciating what it was we were seeing. I couldn’t find anyone to go with me on short notice and so took my eight-year-old son. I didn’t even realise the seats were inside the “Jungle”. We were seated as if part of the camp, facing a runway central stage but surrounded by cafes and tea shacks. The actors milled about making chai and rolling dough before the play began and we were utterly immersed. As the play ran, we were served chai, given chapatis and surrounded by the members of the Jungle as they negotiated their lives and decisions trying for a better life. We were transfixed. Having driven through Calais ferry port and seeing the refugees there countless times, my son could now see their lives play out from the inside. We have never seen a play so emotionally rending and have not seen one since. It was the play that prompted me to join Safe Passage, donating and raising money to support people seeking to cross the Channel to a better life. Elizabeth Bailey, 47, teacher, Leigh-on-sea
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Customs House, South Shields, 1995
It was the late 90s, and I was applying to study drama at university. A production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Barrie Rutter’s Northern Broadsides came to the Customs House in South Shields and was performed in the open air, on the banks of the Tyne. I’d seen Shakespeare performed live before – the RSC regularly performed at Newcastle’s Theatre Royal, a fact I had angrily shared during a university interview with a professor who had sneered that there wasn’t “much of a theatrical tradition, where you’re from”. But this was the first time I’d heard Shakespeare performed with accents like mine. From Rutter’s broad Yorkshire Oberon, all the way down south to a cockney Titania, regional accents were proudly voicing some of the finest poetry ever written. I watched them perform as the sun set over the Tyne, and my dreams suddenly felt more attainable. Nearly 30 years later, “Geordie Puck” is still one of my go-to audition monologues! Jennifer Kilcast, 45, actor, Hertfordshire
Sizwe Banzi is Dead, Grahamstown festival, South Africa, 1989
As a teenager in the late 1980s in South Africa, I saw Sizwe Banzi is Dead on a school trip to the Grahamstown national arts festival. The play was originally created by Athol Fugard, John Kani and Winston Ntshona in the 1970s as a beautiful act of protest against apartheid. As a young person, I didn’t know a play could speak with such power about politics. The lighting failed, but the actors (playing multiple parts) were mesmerising anyway. I fell in love with the play, went on to study South African literature for my PhD, and now teach African literature and film at a British university. Nicole Devarenne, university lecturer, Dundee