This Machine Kills Fascists – The Empty Space

The words “This Machine Kills Fascists” emblazoned across Woody Guthrie’s guitar have become one of the defining images of American protest culture. In David Dunn’s spirited musical—ending a short UK tour as part of the Greater Manchester Fringe—that slogan becomes both mission statement and challenge, asking whether songs still possess the power to confront intolerance, inequality and authoritarianism in an increasingly polarised world.

A musical biography of Guthrie could easily descend into reverential myth-making. Dunn wisely resists that temptation. Instead, he presents a man of extraordinary talent, fierce conviction and deeply uncomfortable contradictions. Guthrie’s loathing of racism and exploitation is rooted in a childhood overshadowed by poverty and by a father whose prejudices shaped his own determination to fight injustice. Yet the production is equally candid about the flaws that complicated his legacy. The drinking, womanising and messianic self-belief that alienated friends and family are confronted head-on, creating a portrait of a man who was loved and revered, but not always liked. Admiration for his ideals never quite outweighs the personal cost of living in his orbit.

Spencer Ballantyne is superb in the title role, effortlessly shifting between Guthrie’s infectious, twinkly charm and the bullying, misogynistic streak that increasingly undermined both his personal relationships and public image. His decline, hastened by alcoholism and the cruel onset of the inherited Huntington’s disease that had already haunted his family, is handled with genuine pathos rather than sentimentality. Tyson Collins brings warmth and quiet authority as Pete Seeger, while Jen Dunn and Jasmine LaPira divide the roles of Guthrie’s three wives, restoring agency to figures too often treated as footnotes in his biography. Their performances ensure the narrative never loses sight of those who bore the consequences of his brilliance as well as his failings. Throughout, the ensemble of nine actor-musicians impress with their versatility, moving seamlessly between instruments, characters and finely judged vocal performances.

Rather than relying on a catalogue of familiar Guthrie songs, Dunn has written an original score that captures the directness and social conscience of his music without resorting to imitation. The songs become an extension of the drama, illuminating Guthrie’s ideals while tracing his growing influence on a new generation of protest singers, most notably Bob Dylan. The production’s ensemble-driven style ensures music, movement and storytelling remain inseparable, while the closing number, A Friend of Mine, neatly connects Guthrie’s activism with those who have carried that torch in subsequent generations.

The second half deftly explores the paranoia of the McCarthy era and its chilling effect on artistic expression, before charting Guthrie’s heartbreaking physical decline. Occasionally, however, the production’s determination to draw contemporary parallels feels a little too eager. A sequence introducing Fred Trump as a villainous New York landlord, explicitly linking Guthrie’s struggles to modern American politics, lands more like editorialising than drama and briefly interrupts the narrative’s otherwise assured momentum.

Even so, this is an intelligent, musically accomplished piece of political theatre that refuses to smooth away the rough edges of its subject. In reclaiming the spirit of protest music rather than simply replaying its greatest hits, This Machine Kills Fascists argues that while guitars may not literally defeat fascism, stories, songs and collective voices can still challenge injustice. More than half a century after Guthrie’s death, that remains a message worth hearing.

Reviewer: Paul Wilcox

Reviewed: 10th July 2026

North West End UK Rating: