My Brother’s a Genius – Review – Sheffield Crucible Playhouse

By Clare Jenkins, January 2026

Playwright Debris Stevenson’s semi-autobiographical grime musical Poet in da Corner – its name reflecting Dizzee Rascal’s 2003 album Boy in da Corner – took London’s Royal Court Theatre by storm seven years ago. Since then, she’s written 1st Luv – also heavily influenced by grime music – and now My Brother’s a Genius, a two-hander staged in collaboration with Theatre Centre and the National Youth Theatre, both committed to creating new work for young audiences.

A grime poet herself – as well as being a ‘neurodivergent academic’ and ‘professional raver’ currently completing a ‘practice-based PhD studentship in grime lyricism as narrative form’ – Stevenson has created this 75-minute musical after canvassing the views of 150 young people across the country. The result is a high-energy, fast-paced look at the lives of close but polar-opposite twins brought up in a London tower block (though, despite the East End accents, there’s the odd confusing reference to Sheffield).

They may both themselves be neurodivergent, but while he’s the genius, she’s the flailing, failing one with a diagnosis of ADHD, autism and dyslexia. But is the difference between them so clear-cut, as scientific Luke pursues his ambition to join Elon Musk’s SpaceX programme, while Daisy struggles with her studies at a school for children with special educational needs?

“Different forms”

As with Mark Haddon’s award-winning The Curious Incident of The Dog in the Night Time, My Brother’s a Genius explores what it’s like to experience the world differently from so-called ‘normal’ people. So, with Genius, every performance is ‘relaxed’ – audience members can move around and make a noise if they want to – and a disembodied voice occasionally addresses the audience directly. Noise-cancelling headphones are also available for anyone sensitive to the sometimes loud, gritty, pulse-driven urban electronic soundtrack by Hackney-based grime MC and record producer Jammz.

Erin Guan’s staging is sparse – a curtain over a frame that contains a swing, plus a few boxes – and Jess Brigham’s lighting is variable: at times a tad too dark. Under Eleanor Manners’ direction, there’s also some lack of variety and texture in the pace and tone, as the twins – narrators as well as main characters – navigate their way through life, with dysfunctional parents (represented by the twins chanting those lines together), the odd adult ‘expert’ (an educational psychologist, an SEN teacher, their speeches sometimes delivered too quickly to fully understand), and their joint dream of flying.

That dream, though, takes different forms. In Daisy’s case – after a reality-defying fall off the tower block (Q: who falls 12 floors and survives, even with home-made wings?), she tries her hand at being a circus trapeze artist. Luke, meanwhile, studies science and is accepted on a mission to Mars, but the rocket fails (Q: who crashes to earth from space and survives?).

There’s another parallel here, of course, with Greek mythology and Icarus flying too near the sun. But while Icarus drowned, Luke and Daisy ultimately realise that ‘falling, failing and flying are all part of the complexities of life’. And, as they move through adolescence towards adulthood, they find their own, unique ways to become themselves.

“Restless”

There’s humour here, as well as boundless energy and physicality, as the twins race round the set and climb over and around the frame. As Luke, Tyrese Walters’ athletic antics in particular draw gasps from the school party in the audience. It probably helps that he’s a karate black belt. But he also has a restrained, calm maturity that’s a perfect foil for his sister’s fidgeting.

Jess Senanayake’s Daisy also has real presence: vulnerable and restless, hands constantly twitching, face stressed, untidily dressed, at times trying to curl herself into a small ball, at others arms stretched wide to embrace whatever life throws at her.

The pace could sometimes slow down enough so that everything said and sung is totally comprehensible: some key points are currently lost. And the conclusion isn’t as clear-cut as it might be. But younger members of the audience obviously connected to the mood and the sentiments, cheering and dancing at the end. So maybe I should simply free up my riddim, as Jammz would say.

My Brother’s a Genius runs in Sheffield Playhouse until Sat 14 Feb, before going on tour, including to Scarborough and Leeds