What if Shakespeare and Marlowe had shared not just a stage in history, but a room, a rivalry, and maybe even a few secrets? That’s the playful “what if” at the heart of Liz Duffy Adams’ Born with Teeth, a whip-smart two-hander that reimagines the relationship between two of English theatre’s greatest names. Rather than giving us a dry history lesson, Adams offers a tense and often funny clash of egos, ambition, and desire.
From the opening image, it’s clear this isn’t going to be a cosy period drama. Joanna Scotcher’s set design greets us with an unexpected tableau of torture — a bold, unsettling start that jolts the audience into the world of paranoia and danger these writers lived in. The staging then pares back to something deceptively simple: a table, a room, a place where words will be written and reputations made. Neil Austin’s lighting design does a lot of heavy lifting here, shifting the space with stark changes of mood, at times evoking the harsh glare of a dressing-room mirror, at others the flicker of a candle’s final breath. Andrzej Goulding’s visuals, woven throughout, intensify the darker undercurrents, reminding us that the stakes for self-expression in Elizabethan England could be deadly.
The play, however, belongs above all to its two leads. Ncuti Gatwa is magnetic as Kit Marlowe — all rock-star bravado, sharp humour, and a touch of danger. He struts through the role with a confidence that makes his moments of fragility all the more affecting. His Marlowe is both brilliant and reckless, a man whose wit cuts as sharply as his tongue. Edward Bluemel’s Shakespeare is a fascinating foil: he starts as the quieter, less assured figure, but over the course of the play we see him evolve into someone just as ambitious and hungry for recognition. His journey from timid novice to rising star is beautifully paced. Together, Gatwa and Bluemel spark with chemistry — whether they’re exchanging barbed quips, circling each other with suspicion, or letting moments of intimacy creep in. Their energy drives the production, even if at times the sheer force of their performances threatens to overshadow the subtleties of Adams’ script.
At just ninety minutes, Born with Teeth is lean and fast-moving. It raises big questions — about identity, sexuality, creativity, and the cost of ambition — without ever feeling heavy-handed. The rivalry at its centre is fictional, but the emotions it taps into are timeless, and it’s hard not to draw lines between the struggles of these Renaissance figures and the challenges of artists today.
Adams has crafted a play that’s clever, stylish, and often wickedly funny, and director Rob Melrose keeps the tension simmering throughout. What you’re left with is not just a playful reimagining of a literary rivalry, but a story about the risks people take for art, for love, and for the chance to be remembered.
Born with Teeth bites hard — and it leaves a mark.
It runs until 1 November. Tickets: here.
Review: Ramsey Baghdadi Photos: Johan Persson