My friend Eric, an Egyptian Muslim pulled me aside last week. He dragged me out of earshot from his mother, who eyed us both suspiciously while adjusting her hijab.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Eric whispered, fizzing with anxiety. ‘Is it true what they say about Muslim grooming gangs?’
I sighed, weary at a right-wing narrative that’s now fuelling doubt in the community it seeks to demonise. It’s a live situation, unfolding in real time.
‘Yes, Eric,’ I replied, cautiously. ‘But it’s complex and toxic. Sex offenders of Muslim heritage DO exist, but they get outsize media attention. Waaaaaay more than white British groomers. AND it’s a social media shitstorm for clicks and clout.’
Eric could barely look at me. My careworn brain reeled with grisly memories of drunken, ugly fights with friends over this issue. ‘Look,’ I explained. “People who’re most vexed by ‘grooming gangs’ claim to care for children, but four fucking million kids are growing up in poverty, going to school hungry. Do they care about THAT? Or online grooming via Tik Tok and Instagram? Are they grieving innocent children who drowned in the Channel via dodgy boats from Calais? Kids that have seen war and could be victims of ACTUAL trafficking?”
The conversation with Eric haunted me. The topic, like Brexit, is an open wound that’s best avoided despite its omnipresence. It’s been an explosive staple of the culture wars since 2001. It was 25 years ago that names of taxi drivers who’d allegedly picked up girls from care homes in Rotherham to abuse them were passed to the police and council. The appalling scandal landed in 2010. Writer Phil Davies wrote his debut play, Firebird in the aftermath of the Rochdale case. It was first staged at Hampstead Theatre in 2015, before transferring to Trafalgar Studios the following year. In the programme for this revival at Southwark Playhouse a decade later, Davies asks if we, “have truly changed anything, or have we simply become better at expressing outrage after the damage has been done.”
‘Better at expressing outrage?’ It’s the lingua franca, Phil. Nuthin’ else going on. From your cousin on Facebook to rancid Reform members, bellicose fury is absolutely standard. At the centre of all this, often ignored or shouted over are the victims, the children who’re usually reduced to headlines or statistics. Thankfully, Phil Davies’ harrowing three-hander steps away from the emotive politics and for 90 minutes explores the misleading shades and complexities of manipulation and abuse . In her London debut, Mollie Milne plays 14-year-old Tia, a gobby, abrasive girl from a broke Glasgow ‘hood, who’s lured into a child prostitution racket run by AJ (Taqi Nazeer). They meet at a rain swept kebab shop where Tia is cockily begging for a free portion of chips. She harangues the owner, while being casually racist and annoyingly relentless in her hungry hustle.
Milne is excellent as the prickly, damaged Tia. The audience is presented with the many layers of defence and pre-emptive verbal missiles that are so often traits found in kids who’ve experienced neglect or grown up in care. Tia is occasionally entertaining, but mostly, she’s a noisy irritant. She achieves much of her aims by simply wearing people down. Her heart is largely obscured by an armour of bravado, the need for survival and the spiky instincts of a kid starved of love. Milne portrays Tia with a raw, but real intensity. By the time Tia wins our unconditional sympathy, it’s too late. Imprisoned by AJ, Tia is pimped out for gang rape. She’s lost her bolshy mettle and become a pleading, broken child with nothing to live for.
It’s a testament to Davies writing that the knotty difficulties inherent to child abuse, hopeless poverty, coercion and addiction are played out in all their grim glory. Nazeer is a handsome, suave actor. He doesn’t fit the archetype of the kiddy fiddling monster, a staple of the frothing tabloids. He’s easy on the eye, and when we first meet him, patient, generous and caring. Nazeer’s AJ has nuclear charm where Tia has atomic grit. Both are faking it with considerable skill and that’s where this show really delivers. For all the public hand wringing, Tommy Robinson tirades and racist flexing by Elon Musk and the media, the multifaceted circumstances of these crimes and society’s failure to see beyond the kneejerk surface are the real players in this ongoing circus.
Director, Marlie Haco’s production sets the action on a raised platform with a hydraulic ceiling. It slides up and down as Tia’s perspective shrinks and expands. Music by Ákos Lustyik, set by Tomás Palmer and lighting by Ben Jacobs keep it simple and effective. Flashing strobe lights and spasms of dance music act as punctuation between scenes and give glimpses into Tia’s traumatised mind. Katie (Kelise Gordon-Harrison) feels quite a minor character in the opening scenes, but in the finale, Gordon-Harrison really nails the performance.
It’s not a fun night out, but it’s a gripping drama that swerves the easy wins of social media ‘debate’ and does the tougher job of highlighting the endless and awkward shades of grey that exist between the black and white narrative that’s often a springboard people with an agenda.
Firebird is at Southwark Playhouse Borough until 1st August 2026
Southwark Playhouse – Theatre and Stuff – Borough & Elephant
Reviewer: Stewart Who?
Reviewed: 16th July 2026
North West End UK Rating: