This was the third time that a bunch of us descended (well, I suppose, ascended, considering the direction of travel) on Leicester for the last weekend of their famous Comedy Festival. Mrs Chrisparkle and I played host to Lord and Lady Prosecco, Professor and Mrs Plum, and Prinz Mark von Köln. Sadly Lord Liverpool was indisposed due to ill health, so he was tucked up in bed whilst the Countess of Cockfosters peeled him grapes. However, the remaining Magnificent Seven were greeted by beautiful sunshine and a light lunch at Pret a Manger, before heading into our first show.
Ban*na C*nts, (Work in Progress), Sian Docksey and Zoe Tomalin, Heroes @ Apres Lounge, 1pm 23rd February
Sian Docksey and Zoe Tomalin are two lively and welcoming young ladies who admit straight off that they made a mistake with the marketing. If you Google the title of their show (rest assured I have not done so, gentle reader) then you might expect you were going to see something completely different. Instead of plantain porn, we got 25 minutes or so in the company of each comic, giving us some work in progress to see how it landed.
On the whole, it landed very well. The best of the material came from Ms Docksey’s inspired consideration about the relationships between the chess pieces; I shan’t spoil it for you, but we were all hooting with laughter. There’s also a nice sequence where, in an attempt to redress the inequalities of the sexes in the workplace, men’s leadership meetings have been replaced with followship sessions. Needs a tiny bit of work, but it’s a great idea. I also loved the idea that being bisexual could be considered gay of centre.
Ms Tomalin created a lot of humour from her diminutive stature, and had a promising sequence about bra sizing, which I hope she develops (please don’t take that the wrong way.) Together they form an enjoyable partnership, although they work apart more than they work together. A very enjoyable way to start the day – in a Swiss Chalet in Leicester High Street. (No, honestly.)
Roisin and Chiara, Back to Back, Heroes @ Apres Lounge, 2.20pm 23rd February.
Next up – and in the same Swiss Chalet, with building work noise thumping away in the background, were Roisin O’Mahony and Chiara Goldsmith with their Edinburgh show from last year, Back to Back. I had read some reviews and had advised the group that sitting in the front row was probably not a good idea for this show. However, there’s absolutely no point trying to hide from these two ladies as they scour the entire audience for their prey no matter where you sit.
Prey sounds a bit cruel; it isn’t cruel at all, in fact it’s absolutely brilliant. Hugely confident, and with terrific strange presence, they present an hour of total anarchy and it’s a completely beautiful thing. Welcoming us into their lofty chalet, they assess us like two weirdos over the garden fence; then they discuss their own relationships; Roisin becomes a wolf; they stuff their mouths with marshmallows, and straddled Stephen from the fourth row (I told you there was no hiding place). Even Professor Plum had a young lady perched on his knee for some of the show. They have a range of wacky characters and voices that they adopt throughout the hour; most of it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever but who cares, it’s a sheer delight to wallow in it. We all loved them, and I’d very happily seek them out in future shows.
Then it was time to check-in at the Mercure Grand, our usual city centre abode, to enjoy a short pause and some private regrouping before meeting again for the rest of the day’s programme.
Henry Paker, Man Alive, The Cookie, 5pm 23rd February
I’d never heard of Mr Paker but we took a look at his reviews and thought this sounded a safe bet. Boy, were we right. Man Alive is the show he took to Edinburgh last summer, and is a beautifully structured, cleverly created combination of his skills as a stand-up comic, talking about married life and life in general, and his skills as a designer and illustrator.
Running through his routine as a unifying thread is a cartoon story about David, his clocks and how he’d spend his time with Nobody – it’s charming, funny and revealing. But I particularly enjoyed his material about middle class angst; deciding which is the most middle-class word in the English Language – I won’t spoil it for you, but he’s completely right and I spent the rest of the weekend self-consciously saying it to annoy the rest of our party. Amongst the rest of his material, he has some great sequences about how, although it’s lovely to spend time with his wife, it’s even lovelier to spend time without her.
He has a very relaxed and measured delivery and he’s not at all scared of leaving the occasional pause or silence, which is a mark of someone who is completely in control of their material. The hour flew by and we all agreed he is someone we have to see again!
Just the Tonic’s Saturday Night Comedy Club – Special Guest Compere, Hansom Hall, 8.30pm 23rd February
After a delicious dinner at the Kayal Indian Restaurant, we took a step back to two years ago when we saw Johnny Vegas compere a brilliant night of comedy at the Hansom Hall. He was creative, anarchic, unpredictable and a complete comedy genius. We’ll have to have another helping of that, we said. But sometimes, the old saying goes, don’t go back a second time, because you might be disappointed. And that, sadly, was the truth, gentle reader. The idea behind the presentation of this year’s special was that it would be “tag team” compering, between Johnny Vegas and Just the Tonic supremo, Darrell Martin. In practice, that meant that Johnny would do the majority of the compering and Darrell would step in when Johnny was just getting too out of hand. As a concept, it didn’t really work, because Johnny’s faithful followers didn’t want Darrell interrupting, and the bickering between the two presenters – even if it was faux-aggressive – came over as genuinely acrimonious, and not conducive to humour.
However, the big problem was that Johnny and Darrell had spent the afternoon in the pub and Johnny was distinctly worse for wear. Those creative flights of fancy from two years ago were snuffed out and replaced by uninteresting self-indulgence, and it became apparent pretty early on that this was not going to be the highlight of the weekend that we had hoped for. Indeed, someone heckled Johnny Vegas to the effect that they’d wasted their £15 for a ticket (which, to be fair, is toppy for the Festival, although not for a 150 minute show), and I couldn’t help but agree with him.
It was a shame because it put a dampener on the superb guest line-up. First up was Tez Ilyas, one of my favourite comic performers; because JV hadn’t got too out of hand by that stage, he was probably least affected of all the guests. Mr I gave us a lot of material that he has used before, but it’s ok because it’s so funny and he always does it with such a knowing twinkle in his eye. I loved his new definition of scoring 10 on the “I approve of ISIS scale”.
A new name, who was given a ten-minute slot to impress, was Matt Bragg; and I have to agree with everyone else, he is definitely One to Watch. Self-effacing, effortless, quirky and with some original material, he was a breath of fresh air and I would have loved to see more of his stuff and less from Mr Vegas. Another familiar performer was Jonny Awsum; always reliable with his musical comedy, although again with material that we have seen a number of times. Because his comedy can come across as quite silly and childlike, it felt wrong that he littered his set with lots of bad language – I’ve seen him perform before with no swearing and he’s funnier that way.
With a high reputation, and the last guests on, came The Noise Next Door, an improvisation group of four performers who act out sketches and sequences at the whim of whatever the audience chooses to chuck at them. They were excellent and we would happily see more of them another time too. The Lithuanian sketch was particularly brilliant, although that’s partially because of some inspired audience participation.
We left before seeing JV wind up the show so that we could get to our final venue on time.
Late Night Jokes On Us, Manhattan Bar, 11.30pm 23rd February
We really enjoyed this late night show last year so thought we’d try it this year too. Again, it didn’t quite come up to the standard of 2018, but there was still much to enjoy. Hard-working and upbeat host Alex Hylton introduced us to five acts, none of whom we had seen before.
First up, Rob Mulholland is, literally, a giant of comedy and I could see why he has such a great reputation. Full of fun and good-hearted attack, he had some enjoyable material and an excellent stage presence. Next was Lovdev Barpaga, whom we nearly saw in Edinburgh last year – but didn’t quite. He was crowned UK Pun Champion in 2017 and I can see why. His show is called Pun-Jabi, and he gave us ten minutes of puntastic hysteria. Really funny material and a very likeable guy.
Next was a comic whose name I didn’t properly catch, but I believe his first name was Rahul. He started promisingly, but then gave us some material based on the fact that he has a lisp; and once he’d done that, all we could hear was his lisp and not his material. As he realised the laughs weren’t flowing, he allowed himself to lose confidence, and, I’m afraid, it ended up as a pretty painful onstage death. Shame, as I’m sure he has the basis of a good act there. My advice, ignore the lisp!
Last two comics were Adam Beardsmore, who also had a very assertive and strong stage presence, with some good material; and Jack Topher, who rounded the evening off very well, but I have to confess late-night tiredness had set in and I can’t remember that much of what happened. He was good though!
The next morning we were all a bit tired because not only had we had something of a late night, but also a 6.40am fire alarm got us all scuttling out of bed and scrambling on a few clothes so that we stood in the hotel car park for about forty five minutes. No fire, but lots of firemen, which was reassuring.
Anita Elizabeth Holmes Presents, Upstairs at Kayal Restaurant, 2pm 24th February
First up was Lorna Pritchard, an ex-news reporter on Welsh TV, now full-time comedian, who struck up an excellent rapport with the audience with her cheery disposition and likeable presence. Having established that the majority of the audience either came from, or had a significant attachment to, Liverpool, she proceeded to tell one of the best jokes of the weekend about the Scouse bouncer who watched her reverse her bumper into another parked car. Very enjoyable, frothy, pleasantly undemanding humour.
The second act was Drew Taylor, a large, lugubrious presence, who told his anecdotes about life in Wales with a very strong accent to which I couldn’t always quite attune myself. But his material is excellent, and his slow and sure delivery adds to that slight caricature of a dour Welsh comic. Again, very enjoyable, and lots of laughs.
Kevin Precious, Unholier than Thou, Upstairs at Kayal Restaurant, 3.20pm 24th February
Next up – and what a find! Subtitled The Non-Believing Religious Studies Teacher, Kevin Precious takes us through life as an agnostic trying to steer his school pupils through the intricacies of comparative religion; and it’s comedy genius. From the disruptions of unwilling students, to the complex expectations of parents, it’s a fascinating insight into being simply the wrong person for the job. Mr Precious has a brilliant style of delivery; very active and energetic, with some hilarious characterisations and a superb, step-by-step dismemberment of organised religion. Now a humanist, he has a much more enlightened understanding of the world around us. I loved his excellent take on the how miracles might be considered to happen; and his general desire for empirical proof over superstition is the source for a lot of great material. Definitely One to Watch.
After a little afternoon coffee and cake it was time for our final show.
Eshaan Akbar, Prophet while it’s Hot, The Cosy Club, 6pm 24th February
We’d seen Mr Akbar supporting Dane Baptiste in Northampton a couple of years ago, so I knew he had a great comic delivery and lovely ability to take the Mickey out of himself. This is his Edinburgh show of last summer, where he basically deconstructs the content of the Quran and reveals himself to be as much an infidel as the rest of us. Taking us through some of the most important passages of the Holy Text, and the advice of the Five Pillars of Islam, he creates a hilarious blitz of the faith. Nevertheless, he also emphasises all its kindly, loving aspects, which he highlights with the hilarious account of burying his mother – he agrees, it shouldn’t really be a source for comedy, but it really is. In fact, we found a lot of his personal accounts very moving. He was a little unsure of the presence of a couple of distinctly middle-aged Muslims in the front row, whom he nicknamed Uncle and Auntie –– but they were loving it like the rest of us. An excellent, enlightening and informative show, and a terrific way to end our weekend. We’ll be back next year!
The prospect of seeing another production of As You Like It always fills me with excitement because it’s one of Shakespeare’s true crowd-pleasers. The cheeky, jokey relationship between Rosalind and Celia; the challenge of how to characterise the melancholy Jaques; the knowing sniggering of Orlando chatting up Ganymede when we all know it’s Rosalind; the rustic tomfoolery of Touchstone, Audrey, Silvius and Phoebe. Then there are also those little heart-warming moments, like Adam pledging allegiance to Orlando, and Orlando’s subsequent care for Adam when his life is almost at an end; and Celia facing up to her vicious father and refusing to leave Rosalind’s side. There’s a lot of kind friendship going on here.
I confess; I struggled to identify director Kimberley Sykes’ vision for this production. My only clue came from an article in the programme about how plays such as these would have been very much performed to and for the audience in Shakespeare’s time. As a result, there’s quite a bit of fourth-wall breaking. It’s as though they’ve taken Rosalind’s final speech, an epilogue delivered directly to the audience, and worked backward from there.
To be fair, some of this works extremely well. Whilst Orlando and “Ganymede” are wooing each other and pretending to get married, Celia joins us at the edge of the stage and casts tutting glances at individual audience members as if to share the thought, jeez how much longer is this going on? She grabs a programme off someone and tries to identify who’s on stage – and then she finds a funny photo in the programme and cackles with inappropriate laughter whilst pointing at it and others, just like an ill-behaved audience member might. Personally, I found that “irreverent audience member-act” hilarious. In another scene, Touchstone’s camera lens disintegrated so he gave it to an audience member to hold. On yet another occasion, Rosalind and Celia tried to outstare a gentleman in the front row. All these little incidents really helped to build a relationship between cast and crowd. Less so the moment shortly before the interval when Orlando got four people out of the audience to hold up pieces of paper that, when put together, read “Rosalind”. Rarely has so much audience disruption been caused for so little dramatic or comic gain.
Other effects bludgeon us into some form of reaction. Touchstone is dressed throughout in homage to Scottish/American magician/comedian Jerry Sadowitz. Don’t ask me why. The arrival by the banished characters at the Forest of Arden is marked by the stage lights glowing bright, removal of the backdrop so we can see all the backstage gubbins, members of the cast walking round chatting willy-nilly, and a disembodied voice requiring Miss Stanton to appear on stage to perform her All The World’s a Stage routine (even though we hadn’t got that far into the play yet). Again, don’t ask me why. Many productions do away with the appearance of Hymen, the god of marriage, in the final scene, because it heavily detracts from any sense of realism. Not so with this production, where the stage is dominated by the biggest Hymen (if you’ll pardon the expression) you’re ever likely to see. Out of all proportion, it’s grotesque and ungainly and looks like an accident in a papier-mâché factory.
This is a very strange evening at the theatre. On the one hand, you have some superb performances and a few laugh out loud moments that really take your breath away. On the other hand, the production has a strange energy-sapping effect, and by the time Rosalind/Ganymede has engineered the four-way marriage celebrations, you really just want to get out for some fresh air. Although the production aims to bring the audience and play closer together, it’s only Rosalind, Orlando and Celia who sustain your interest. The plights and intrigues of the other characters can go hang for all you care. Mrs Chrisparkle wore her bored look for much of the evening – OK I realise, that might have been because of me, but I sense (and hope) it was the Arden brigade.
On a lighter note, the love triangle of Touchstone, Audrey and William is enhanced by having Tom Dawze’s William act as a sign-language interpreter between the other two characters; Charlotte Arrowsmith delivers all Audrey’s lines by sign language and this excellent element of inclusivity lends an extra dimension and weight to their relationship. Recently we’ve seen quite a lot of gender-bending in productions of the classics, and this production features female portrayals of Jaques, Le Beau, Amiens and Martext, all of which help you to see the familiar characters from a different perspective.
And there’s also a female Silvius – now portrayed as Silvia. This means Phoebe is now being pestered by a lovelorn young shepherdess; fair enough. However, the appropriateness of this change all unravels at the final scene. Ganymede promises to marry Phoebe if ever he marries woman. But when it’s revealed that he is a she, Phoebe’s reaction is if sight and shape be true, why then my love adieu – in other words, “oh no, you’re a girl, I only fancy boys”. Nevertheless she’s still instantly married off to a girl! I appreciate that the words of Hymen could imply that he has no problem with equal marriage – which, of course, is great – but it’s being imposed on Phoebe and for me, it didn’t make sense and it didn’t sit comfortably.
Let’s concentrate on the good things. Lucy Phelps as Rosalind – what a tremendous performance! A perfect blend of mischief and nobility, of girlish goofiness and authoritative courtier. Whether she be sharing a joke with her friend or trying to extricate herself from very serious situations, she constantly reveals little insights about her character and she is so completely believable. Very funny, very dignified; Ms Phelps absolutely nails it.
Sophie Khan Levy, too, is perfect as Celia; long-suffering, easily giving in to temptation, and wickedly sarcastic. I loved how she transformed herself into a rock; and how her cynical side just melted away when she encounters the dreamy Jacques de Bois. She and Ms Phelps form a terrific double-act, both comic and dramatic. David Ajao’s Orlando is a simple, good-hearted soul, exuding enthusiasm in everything he does, and a great match for Ms Phelps as neither can contain their giggly romantic interest in each other.
Sophie Stanton’s Jaques is a very intelligent reading of the role, full of wistful thought and interrupted emotion; calmly and unhysterically delivered. She doesn’t recite All the World’s a Stage like some powerful, previously well thought-out party piece, but as though the idea is coming to her as she says it; a concept developing in her brain as she works her way through the journey of An Average Life. The staging of What shall he have that kill’d the deer is less successful; the combination of Ms Stanton’s eerie vocal delivery and Graeme Brookes’ First Lord’s cervine scampering around the stage makes the audience uncertain whether to laugh or be concerned for their mental wellbeing.
Antony Byrne excels at the dual roles of the two Dukes, one nice, one nasty; and I enjoyed the way the one became the other at that otherwise strange border crossing into the Forest of Arden. Sandy Grierson’s eccentric and perceptive Touchstone is a lot to take on board, and treads a fine line between annoyingly comic and comically annoying – which is perfectly reasonable for that character. Richard Clews’ Adam is a noble and moving performance – with a delightful singing voice too, and there’s a nicely bumbling characterisation of Corin by Patrick Brennan. Emily Johnstone’s Madame Le Beau steals every scene in the first act as she teeters into the sinking grass with her stilettos and speaks her servilities with wonderful emptiness.
There’s no doubt that the fantastic cast carry this rather underwhelming production. It could do with a few more cuts and a little tightening up; at just over three hours including the interval it is a little trying at times. However, it’s worth paying the ticket price to see Lucy Phelps alone! In repertoire at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre until 31st August and then across the country between September and April 2020.
Production photos by Topher McGrillis
As a special family treat, we were joined not only by Lord and Lady Prosecco but also our nieces Secret Agent Code November and Special Agent Code Sierra (grown up a bit now, you’ll be relieved to hear) together with their Mum and Dad for another revival of Avenue Q. And a jolly good thing too. This is one of those shows, like Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake, that never really goes away, and why would you want it to?
We last saw it in 2011, at this self-same theatre, and looking back at the characters’ photos of the time, some of them have had a bit of a makeover. Princeton has gone yellow; Kate Monster has become more recognisably a person of fur. Lucy the Slut isn’t as pink as she was; Rod is bluer than he was. The Bad Idea Bears are even more insinuatingly attractive. This can only go one way.
The story is as timeless as ever. Princeton still doesn’t know what to do with a B.A. in English, but he’s set himself up with a job and started looking for digs on Avenue A. It’s only when he gets as far as Avenue Q that he can just about afford anything. On Day One in his new apartment the company downsizes and he loses the job. Never mind, he lives next door to the fetching Kate Monster and finds a whole new bunch of friends in his ‘hood. After a dubious meeting with the Bad Idea Bears (buy some beer! Buy a crate!) he takes Kate on a date where the alluring Lucy the Slut is the headline cabaret artiste.
Despite the temptation of Lucy’s pneumatic assets, Princeton takes Kate home where they have earth-shattering puppet sex from every conceivable angle with immense, prolonged sustainability. Kate forgets to go to work and is harangued by her boss, the monster-prejudiced Mrs Thistletwat. But Kate and Princeton’s relationship is doomed because of his fear of commitment, so they split up. Lucy comes back on the scene. And it all goes downhill from here.
Meanwhile, we have the on-off friendship/relationship between the closeted Rod and the affable Nicky, the stormy household of Brian and Christmas Eve (yes, real people), and will Princeton ever find his purpose? Plus Gary Coleman. Yes, the one off Diff’rent Strokes. Yes, I know he’s dead. Yes, I know it doesn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense when he was alive, it makes even less sense now he’s dead. Why did the writers include a real-life character? It’s a one-joke idea. Maybe it’s become so outdated that he’s become retro. I dunno.
It’s a lively, bright production, as slick as ever, and crammed with fabulous bad taste that leaves you laughing for hours. The songs are tuneful and jolly, performed with great pizzazz by Dean McDermott’s six-piece band, and have surprisingly witty and incisive lyrics that stay with you, well, forever. In “The Internet is for Porn”, who can forget the immortal phrase, Grab your dick and double-click? There are a few nicely updated moments too; Donald Trump doesn’t get off scot-free.
But we’d forgotten how dark the comedy is. It’s all very well that the Bad Idea Bears suggest a beer – we’ve all been there – but they also creep in to your depressed moments to provide a rope so you can end it all; and they do it with such inexorable cheerfulness that you can see how a vulnerable, unstable person could find it an attractive option. Rod’s selfish insensitivity to the needs of his friend means he sees Nicky being passed from pillar to post to sleep on friends’ floors until they have enough of him, and he’s prepared to let his old friend (whom deep down he loves) become homeless and sleep rough. And, although the puppet sex is a comic tour-de-force, basically, Princeton got Kate absolutely rat-arsed in order to take her home; was it really consensual? The comedy is so perfectly done that you laugh at all these situations without realising their potential seriousness. The final song of the show emphasises that life goes on, whether or not you find your purpose; just live for self-satisfaction For Now; long-term ambitions and New Year’s Resolutions can go to Hell.
The puppetry works incredibly well; by having the puppeteer visible to the side of the puppet, it’s as though each of the puppet characters has two faces – the puppet’s face, that mainly only moves by opening its mouth, and the actor/puppeteer’s face, slightly overacting so as to give additional expressiveness to what the character is feeling. And the vocalisation is extraordinary too. The singing is extremely strong, and the different voices that each puppeteer gives their characters are instantly recognisable and fully unique to their own character. That works particularly well in the few scenes where one actor is required to talk to him or herself. Although this is truly an ensemble show, I thought the performances of the Lawrence Smith (Princeton/Rod), Cecily Redman (Kate/Lucy), Tom Steedon (Nicky/Trekkie/Bear) and Megan Armstrong (Mrs T/Bear/2nd arm) were outstanding.
In the real world, there’s an energetically comic performance from Saori Oda as Christmas Eve, as un-PC as you could possibly get in the portrayal of an oriental, I mean Asian-American character, but then again, as the song says, everyone’s a little bit racist. Oliver Stanley nicely conveys Brian’s awkward ungainliness, and Nicholas McLean gave us an excellent Gary Coleman, including spot-on facial expressions and a quality song-and-dance vibe.
But it’s the puppets you remember: the fallible Princeton; the hopeless Kate; the fraught Rod; the jazz-handed Nicky; the temptress Lucy; the masturbation-obsessed Trekkie; the innocently irresistible Bears. No wonder this show just runs and runs! This is Week Four of a long, twenty-four venue tour, and after its week in Northampton, it goes on to Chester, Basildon, Derby, Bradford, Canterbury, Wirral, Cheltenham, Reading, Ipswich, Dunstable, Dublin, Leicester, Edinburgh, Brighton, Wolverhampton, Cardiff, Glasgow, Nottingham, Sheffield, and ending up in Belfast in August. There is Life Outside your Apartment – highly recommended!
In which Renisenb, a young widow from an ancient Egyptian family of 4,000 years ago, returns to her home, having buried her young husband, and hoping everything will be as it once was. However, she finds herself at the heart of a family torn apart by bitter jealousy, rivalry, tyranny, and, eventually, murder. As usual, if you haven’t read the book yet, don’t worry, I promise not to tell you whodunit!
The book is dedicated “To Professor S. R. K. Glanville. Dear Stephen, it was you who originally suggested to me the idea of a detective story set in Ancient Egypt, and but for your active help and encouragement, this book would never have been written. I want to say here how much I have enjoyed all the interesting literature you have lent me and to thank you once more for the patience with which you have answered my questions and for the time and trouble you have expended. The pleasure and interest which the writing of the book has brought to me you already know. Your affectionate and grateful friend, Agatha Christie.” Stephen Glanville was Professor of Egyptology at University College London, and Christie had already dedicated one book to him – Five Little Pigs, in 1943. In her autobiography, Christie relates how she wanted to describe the minutiae of daily living in Ancient Egypt with as much accuracy as possible, so she would pester Stephen Glanville with endless questions of domestic practices, seemingly much to his irritation; but they survived the experience, and were still friends at the end. Death Comes as the End was first published in the US in October 1944 by Dodd, Mead and Company, and in the UK by Collins Crime Club in March the following year.
This book is a one-off. It’s the only book by Agatha Christie not to take place in the 20th century; it contains no European characters; and has the second highest death count after And Then There Were None. Distanced from her usual trappings of the British class system, genteel old ladies with parlourmaids, wartime fallout, and without access to Poirot, Miss Marple, Tommy and Tuppence or any of her repertoire of familiar characters, Christie had to fall back on characterisation to make this book come alive. And, boy, does she succeed! This is Christie at her best; psychology, suspense, romance, humour, and a completely unguessable but totally reasonable solution to the crime.
I remember the first time I read it, I struggled with it at first, because there are so many unrecognisable elements. The strange-sounding first names of the characters. The chapter structure, which follows the Egyptian agricultural calendar. The ancient Egyptian gods, religious practices and superstitions, which mean nothing to the modern reader. The notion of how a concubine should be treated within a household, which is completely alien to our culture today. But once you get past these little difficulties, what you’re left with is a riveting domestic drama of jealousy, love, hate, and ambition which is bound to tickle our emotional responses.
In her explanatory note at the beginning of the book, Christie introduces the reader to the agricultural calendar: “the dates here used as Chapter headings are stated in terms of the agricultural year of the time, i. e. Indundation – late July to late November; Winter – late November to late March; and Summer – late March to late July.” It’s true that, when reading the book, you don’t get a sense of the passage of time. In fact, the twenty-three chapters cover what we would recognise as a period of nine months, starting on roughly 6th September. Much of the early part of the book covers the time up till when Nofret, the concubine, dies, which is around 31st December. After that, there are no more deaths until about 1st April, after which they come thick and fast, over a period of five to six weeks, the story ending on approximately 8th May. It’s interesting to note that, despite the very different times in which the two novels are set, Christie largely followed the same dating structure that she did in her previous novel Towards Zero, where we see a virtual countdown over the months from the early planning stages of a crime to its conclusion.
Returning to Christie’s introduction, she tells us that “the inspiration of both characters and plot was derived from two or three Egyptian letters of the XI Dynasty, found about 20 years ago by the Egyptian Expedition of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, in a rock tomb opposite Luxor, and translated by Professor (then Mr.) Battiscombe Gunn in the Museum’s bulletin.” These letters were written by one Heqanakhte to his family, complaining about their behaviour and treatment of his concubine. Although the societal norms may change over the centuries, human emotions don’t.
It’s a traditional third person narrative; however, we very much see the story unfold through Renisenb’s eyes. She is a beautifully crafted character; even though I wouldn’t have a clue how to pronounce her name, I feel I know her very well. She’s a quiet, reflective soul; very traditional, dependant on kindness from her family and friends; she’s also popular, because she doesn’t make a fuss and life has been cruel to her, despite her happiness in the past with her late husband Khay – who frequently re-enters her imagination – and her devotion to her child Teti. As time goes by, she starts to long for married happiness again, but will it be with the reliable, older scribe Hori, who guided her as a child, or the dazzling, exotic Kameni, with whom life could be very exciting. Renisenb’s personal journey, from mourning widow, resenting change, to someone who wants another bright future, is the thread that runs through the book, and I think she’s one of Christie’s great creations. More on the other characters later in this blog post!
The story takes place in Thebes, in 2000 BC; a location of which Christie had a good understanding following her archaeological digs with her husband Max Mallowan. The ruins of Thebes are found within modern day Luxor. So Death Comes as the End benefits from a sophisticated, wealthy setting; this is a place where slaves taste your food before you do, so that if it’s poisoned, they die first. Here, it’s vital to impress other people with your wealth when it comes to financing extremely grand funerals; only the finest, brand new sheets are used for the bodies; and more than once we hear complaints about the high prices charged by the embalmers Ipi and Montu.
The local people have a high opinion of their illustrious home and a distrust of people from elsewhere. Henet, the old family retainer, blames all the problems on the family on the arrival of the antagonistic Nofret, Imhotep’s concubine: “this house is bewitched. The work of a she-devil who came to us from the North. No good ever came from out of the North.” Nofret’s family is from Memphis, situated 20 kilometres south of Giza. She describes it as “gay and amusing […] there is music and singing and dancing.” No wonder she doesn’t like Thebes’ more stately and sedate atmosphere.
Following Nofret’s burial, Christie describes the conversations between the powerful local people: “Thebes was rapidly becoming a very powerful city […] Montu spoke with reverence and approval of the King Neb Hepet-Re. A first-class soldier and a man of piety also. The corrupt and cowardly North could hardly stand against him. A unified Egypt, that was what was needed. And it would mean, undoubtedly, great things for Thebes.” King Neb Hepet-Re, of whom Montu was such a fan, is known more easily today as Nebhepetre Mentuhotep II. He was a Pharaoh of the 11th Dynasty who reigned for 51 years from c. 2061 BC – 2010 BC. Around his 39th year on the throne he reunited Egypt, thus ending the First Intermediate Period. Consequently, he is considered the first pharaoh of the Middle Kingdom.
There’s only one other place (I think) that is mentioned in the book: when Hori reads the letter sent from Imhotep whilst he is away on business, Christie describes it thus: “the letter was couched in the ornate style of the professional letter writer of Heracleopolis.” That city, named (obviously) after Heracles, was located 15 kilometres west of the modern city of Beni Suef.
The book is positively littered with other references. Esa quotes: “men are made fools by the gleaming limbs of women, and lo, in a minute they are become discoloured cornelians […] a trifle, a little, the likeness of a dream, and death comes as the end.” It appears that Esa is remembering a quotation from an earlier work of some sort, but if you try to search that phrase online all you come up with is this Agatha Christie book. Does anyone know if it really is a quote from an earlier work?
In conversation with Hori, Renisenb argues a point about Satipy changing her behaviour; impressed with her skills, he replies “you should argue in the Nomarch’s courts.” Who or what was a Nomarch? They were Ancient Egyptian administration officials responsible for the provinces, or nomes, which are also mentioned in the book. Nofret tempts Imhotep with the prospect of fruit and Keda beer. Keda beer? Not quite sure what that is. I can’t see that keda is any kind of plant from which you can make beer, so maybe it’s beer that was imported from Keda; there’s a Keda in Afghanistan, and one in Georgia. I’ve no idea if either of the are famous for beer! Again, can you help, gentle reader?
Imhotep swears “by Hathor” how noisy his grandchildren are. Hathor is an ancient Egyptian goddess associated, who was considered the primeval goddess from whom all others were derived. She is usually depicted as a woman with the head of a cow, ears of a cow, or simply in cow form. Hathor also came to be regarded as the mother of the sun god Ra and held a prominent place in his barge as it sailed across the night sky, into the underworld, and rose again at dawn. Montu, who conducts the funeral services for the family, is a Divine Father of the Temple of Hathor. He sweeps the floor of the burial chamber with a broom of heden grass, before it is sealed up forever; this seemed to be a common practice, but I’ve been unable to discover exactly what heden grass is.
Henet, also, swears; her cry is to “the Nine Gods of the Ennead”. I didn’t know what this referred to; but the Ennead was a group of nine deities in Egyptian mythology worshipped at Heliopolis: the sun god Atum; his children Shu and Tefnut; their children Geb and Nut; and their children Osiris, Isis, Seth, and Nephthys. On another occasion, when Esa is trying to fathom out a motive for the murders, she says “we have here either enmity against the family as a whole, or else there lies behind all these things that covetousness against which the Maxims of Ptahotep warn us.” The Maxims of Ptahhotep is an ancient Egyptian literary composition based on the Vizier Ptahhotep’s wisdom and experiences, a text that was discovered in Thebes in 1847. One of the quotes from the work is: “Think of living in peace with what you possess, and whatever the Gods choose to give will come of its own accord.” Maybe that’s what Esa was remembering.
“Then the Tomb was sealed, and all that remained of the embalmers’ work, pots full of natron, salt and rags that had been in contact with the body, were placed in a little chamber nearby”. Natron? I’d never heard of it. Wikipedia tells me (so it must be right) that Natron is a naturally occurring mixture of sodium carbonate decahydrate and around 17% sodium bicarbonate along with small quantities of sodium chloride and sodium sulphate. It was harvested directly as a salt mixture from dry lake beds in ancient Egypt and has been used for thousands of years as a cleaning product for both the home and body. So it must have been used to clean the dead bodies.
Renisenb challenges Nofret with an accusation of evil, adding “when you come to deny the forty-two sins at the hour of judgment you will not be able to say “I have done no evil”.” Part of their ancient beliefs was that man was subject to forty-two sins, each of which was examined by forty-two heavenly assessors, who were waiting on the edge of the lake that the dead had to cross. And another of their beliefs: Esa reminds Renisenb that her late husband Khay “sails his boat now in the Field of Offerings”. This was one of the names given to their equivalent of heaven, a place that mirror-images earth, where the dead lived happily and contented, providing they had passed the examinations to get there.
What really does come across in this book is how the characters all have absolute religious adherence to their beliefs; there isn’t one non-believer, nor someone who simply toes the religion line for social convenience. They all believe in it absolutely, and it is interwoven with their day to day lives to an inextricable degree. There’s a very thin line between belief and superstition.
Now it’s time for my usual at-a-glance summary, for Death Comes as the End:
Publication Details: 1945. Fontana paperback, 8th impression, published in April 1972, price 25p. The cover illustration, presumably by Tom Adams, simply shows a dead, embalmed Egyptian lady – quite attractive, so presumably Nofret – surrounded by hieroglyphics, torn sheeting, and a watchful ornamental figure. It certainly covers one aspect of the book.
How many pages until the first death: 64. Given that eight people die in all, you can see how the deaths are concentrated into the second half of the book!
Funny lines out of context:
“Yahmose flushed quickly with pleasure. He drew himself a little more erect.”
One of the outstanding aspects of this book. I’ve already talked about how real and believable Renisenb is, but so many of them are. Consider the brash Sobek versus the introverted Yahmose, and the shrewish Satipy versus the distant Kait. Then you have Kameni, who woos Renisenb with his song, the vicious, catty Nofret, the lofty and pompous Imhotep, the vain braggart Ipy, and the cackling busybodies Esa and Henet. Each of them is really easy to imagine in the reader’s mind’s eye, because they are such colourful and lively characters.
Christie the Poison expert:
With so many deaths, unsurprisingly some of them are through poison! However, as this is not the 20th century, and there’s no detective to send samples off to a laboratory, we don’t have an insight into which poisons are used. The only clue given is that one of the victims is said to have drunk “the poppy juice”.
Class/social issues of the time:
I wouldn’t like to assume that Christie has taken a couple of her own usual social themes and deposited them in Ancient Thebes, or whether these two subjects were of particular interest to the Ancient Egyptians – but race and the social position of women do crop again, as usual.
It’s interesting that the slaves are frequently referred to by their colour. Satipy moans about “that hippopotamus of a black slave”; Esa possesses “two little black slave girls”, whom she scolds “in a characteristic, friendly fashion.” Esa is actually very fond of her slaves, a relationship which today feels quite unlikely. Later in the book, Christie describes one of Esa’s slaves as a “little maid”, whom she sends off on an errand. However, when she returns, Christie again describes her simply as “the black girl”. The only other use of the word “black” when describing one of the characters, is when Sobek is furious at the influence that Nofret has acquired over Imhotep: “she has bewitched him – that black, jeering serpent has put a spell on him!” Don’t know about you but this feels more than borderline racist to me.
However, there are many more references to women in this book. We’ve seen before how Christie has an uncomfortable relationship with the notion of feminism. You sense she feels that it’s generally a good idea but awfully unbecoming of a nice young lady. Yahmose’s vituperative wife Satipy is constantly complaining at his attitude. “You drive me mad, Yahmose […] you have no spirit. You’re as meek as a woman!” Touch of the Lady Macbeth’s there, maybe? The narration talks of the sequence of accidents and mishaps that befall Nofret, as a deliberate act of vengeance against her. Christie, in the form of the narrator, tells us “it was a quiet, relentless, petty persecution – nothing overt, nothing to lay hold of – it was essentially a woman’s campaign.” That doesn’t really equate women to Being Able To Do Great Things, does it?
Esa’s got worse up her sleeve. When she complains to Renisenb about Satipy’s bullying behaviour, she actually advocates violence against her. “I hoped Yahmose had come to his senses at last and given his wife a good beating. It’s what she needs – and she’s the kind of woman who would probably enjoy it.” That really makes the modern reader cringe. Even kind-hearted and level-headed Hori shows traces of misogyny; his description of Satipy is phrased: “like most bullying women, she was a coward.” If he’d said “like most bullies, she was a coward” I don’t think there’d be any objection. But this phrasing doesn’t feel quite equable. It implies that bullying men aren’t cowards (which is not true.)
Let’s give the final words on the subject to Kait, Sobek’s quiet and remote wife. Kait advises Renisenb to remarry because “you are strong and young, Renisenb, and you can have many more children.” “Is that all a woman’s life, Kait?” asks Renisenb, to which Kait replies, “it is all that matters to a woman.” And later, when Renisenb is talking to Kait about Sobek, she replies, “what are men anyway? They are necessary to breed children, that is all. But the strength of the race is in the women. It is we, Renisenb, who hand down to our children all that is ours, As for men, let them breed and die early…” So despite having what sounds to us a very backward attitude to the relevance of women in their society, Kait is adamant that their own special brand of feminism is the power of the nation. It perfectly sums up Christie’s ambivalence on the subject!
Classic denouement: Although it’s an exciting denouement, it’s not exactly classic, with only three people present – the murderer, the next intended victim, and the victim’s saviour. All the details are then back-filled afterwards. It’s interesting that Stephen Glanville persuaded Christie to change the ending, much to her annoyance with herself for letting him do so. She avowed thereafter never to let anyone interfere with her plotting ever again! Tantalisingly, we don’t know what ending she had originally proposed.
Happy ending? Yes; although there aren’t many people left to get on with their own lives, a future wedding is on the horizon.
Did the story ring true? With its foreign, distant setting, in another culture at a point much earlier in history, it’s hard to gauge exactly how realistic or credible the story is. In many respects, this is the closest Christie got to writing a pantomime, in that it’s full of vibrant characters and a somewhat over-the-top death count suggests a murderer who is much larger than life.
Overall satisfaction rating: For me it’s unhesitatingly a 10/10, because I’ve always found it riveting – and on re-reading I found I could almost verbatim remember many of the conversations; that’s how much it gets under your skin.
Thanks for reading my blog of Death Comes as the End and if you’ve read it too, I’d love to know what you think. Please just add a comment in the space below. Next up in the Agatha Christie Challenge is Sparkling Cyanide, and our final meeting with Colonel Race; I can’t remember anything else about it though, so I shall look forward to re-reading it! As usual, I’ll blog my thoughts about it in a few weeks’ time. In the meantime, please read it too then we can compare notes! Happy sleuthing!
Two years ago, we saw Original Theatre’s production of Torben Betts’ Invincible, and a jolly fine piece of work it was too. So I was very keen to see this next offering from Mr Betts, produced by the same company. It’s fair to say that both plays have similar themes and subjects. People talking over themselves, pretending to listen but much more interested in what they themselves have to say; people revealing the private emotions that lurk behind a public exterior. There’s even a link between the two plays concerning recent campaigns of war. Mr Betts has a lot to say about the little tragedies that pepper our lives and how they mount up to overwhelm us. He also has a good eye for the surreal, and I can understand why he is spoken of in the same breath as Sir Alan Ayckbourn.
The play originally saw light of day back in 2016 under the title Monogamy, where it played at the Park Theatre and where it received a variety of extreme reviews. Torben Betts decided to revise the play, presumably enhancing the aspects that went well, and altering or removing those that didn’t. Has he created a sparkling new comedy? Or does it look like something that’s been through the mincer?
Caroline’s Kitchen is more than just a name of a play; if it was your subject in a game of charades, you’d have to point out that it was also a television programme and a book. Caroline is a TV chef, whose programme is made in her own charming rustic country kitchen in the heart of north London. The first ten minutes of so of the play is an absolute delight, as we see Caroline in full flight, TV camera watching her every move, as she introduces the show, promises us some fabulous recipes and her special guest, the daunting Ingrid from Sweden. Then we realise it’s a rehearsal, and that Caroline has something of a drink problem, which has encouraged some dreadful paparazzi to snap her falling out of a taxi, with only a newt alongside her for comparison.
But today is a special occasion; son Leo is returning home for a celebratory dinner as he’s just got a First from Cambridge (as Caroline never hesitates to boast about). Caroline’s PA Amanda – a stand-in as her regular PA, Prem, is unavailable – is a 21st century Sloane Ranger with media luvvies stuffed into her phone contacts, and with no idea quite how abrasive and irritating she can be with her pretentious speech patterns. Caroline and Mike’s house is up for sale, and Mrs Minto has booked a viewing that evening, much to Caroline’s annoyance because she doesn’t want the celebration evening spoiled. Handyman Graeme is also on the scene, finishing some little jobs here and there, but wanting a serious word with Caroline. Leo, too, wants a serious word with Caroline. Trouble is, Caroline’s the kind of person who just doesn’t have the time to have a serious word with anyone, apart from God. Add to the mix Caroline’s husband Mike, who manages to be both a boor and a bore, and Graeme’s mentally unstable wife Sally, and you have a recipe for disaster.
There are dark comedies, and dark comedies. This is a DARK comedy, especially in the first act, where there is a lot of scene-setting and character-establishing. What primarily came across to me was a sense of watching a middle-class tale of suburban angst strung out amongst the sauté potatoes and garnishes of rosemary. With the drama of Leo rebelling by doing charity work, the flashing of cash in order to pay off his debts and buy him a flat, and above all – gasp – smoking! – there was a teeth-jangling tweeness mixed with the darkness, which is a weird combination. Sadly, at this stage, it had also forgotten that it should be funny. At the interval Mrs Chrisparkle and I agreed that, although the performances were good, the play itself was just about limping along.
After the interval, the second act was considerably funnier, with a few strong laugh-out-loud moments, and the tweeness was replaced by some more demonic undercurrents. I felt uncomfortable at the comic use of the character of Mike’s latent racism and homophobia; of course, it’s absolutely fine to laugh at someone with bigoted viewpoints, but I just felt we were more being asked to laugh with him, which is a very different matter. This wasn’t the only heavy-handed aspect to the play; symbolic rain outside gets heavier and heavier as the evening progresses, even though when people come on stage from the garden, they weirdly don’t appear to be particularly wet. There is, however, a classic Ayckbournian moment; when preparing to toast Leo’s success with champagne, Mike times the popping of the cork a split-second after Sally lets slip that her brother took his own life. Very nicely done.
As the relationships between all the characters continue to decline throughout the course of the night, there is some element of farce, but, to be honest, it could have pushed the boundaries of savagery even further than it did. The rather unoriginal ending was a mash-up of Sam Holcroft’s Rules for Living and Mike Leigh’s Abigail’s Party.
Nevertheless, it is a very good production; the detailed, attractive, fully operational kitchen set strongly impresses when you enter the auditorium, and there are faultless performances from the whole cast; particularly Aden Gillett’s objectionable Mike, and Elizabeth Boag’s tragic Sally. However, I have to confess, I was disappointed with this one. I had high expectations that it only partly met; I was hoping for something funnier, something sharper, something a little more original. Unlike Invincible, there were no characters with whom you feel a connection; they’re all on the spectrum somewhere between ineffectual and unpleasant, so you don’t particularly care about their fate.
But you can’t win them all, and I expect I’m out of kilter on this one, because the packed Monday night house really enjoyed it. After its week in Northampton, the tour continues to Liverpool, Cheltenham, Norwich, Eastbourne, Bath, Worthing and Colchester.
Production photos by Sam Taylor
With the glorious memories of Company earlier that afternoon still zinging in our heads, it was time to return to the Comedy, I mean Harold Pinter Theatre for a very different form of entertainment for the evening. We’d seen most of the previous Pinter at the Pinters – unfortunately we had to miss 3 and 4 because of travel commitments – but they’d all been of a pretty high standard, with Pinter Six’s Party Time and Celebration being the absolute stand-out production of the season so far. How would Pinter Seven’s A Slight Ache and The Dumb Waiter fare against such illustrious competition?
A Slight Ache was written in 1958 and first performed as a radio play in 1959. Flora and Edward are breakfasting in the garden on a hot summer day. After fretting over a wasp and getting confused over shrubs, an old matchseller appears at their back garden gate. His presence disturbs them, because a) they can’t understand why he positions himself there, b) they can’t decide what he’s actually doing (selling matches, obvs), and c) he never says a word, even when they try to engage him in lengthy, abstruse conversations. Eventually they invite him in, and their casual, polite conversation turns to the occasional insult and the downright surreal. Eventually Flora decides the matchseller is called Barnabas, and whilst she and Edward compete for his attention, he remains mute and invisible. At the end of the play, we see the Matchseller for ourselves – and we see that it is Edward, dressed up as a matchseller. Ah-huh.
This is one of Pinter’s deliberately puzzling little plays, with his recurring themes of false names – Edward doesn’t like it when Flora calls him Edward – false jobs (I bet he isn’t really a matchseller, just as I bet Flora wasn’t a Justice of the Peace and I bet Edward isn’t writing an essay on the Belgian Congo), ridiculous place names (the Membunza Mountain Range, south of Katambaloo, in French Equitorial Africa, which doesn’t exist in real life) and, in this case, pretentious wines (Wachenheimer Fuchsmantel Reisling Beeren Auslese – which does), blindness, (Edward has a slight ache in his eyes) and thinly veiled violence. As usual, you get the sense that the characters are courting danger from outside their immediate environment but are too hardwired in their own behavioural patterns to do anything about it.
Personally, I didn’t find it a terribly satisfying play; it just doesn’t go far enough to make its point – whatever that may be. I did however enjoy Jamie Lloyd’s production. I thought it was smart to start it as though it were a radio play, being acted by two clipped-vowel BBC actor-types, seated on tall chairs in front of microphones, with an On Air sign distinctly On; and as the play progresses they leave that environment and start occupying the garden breakfast table in your mind, with just the occasional reminder that it is a radio play, such as when Flora treads on top of a tray of gravel to give the aural impression she’s walking up the garden path.
John Heffernan’s Edward is an excellent study of a pompous and pernickety man, barely repressing the streaks of violence and anger in his soul. Gemma Whelan’s Flora is straight out of Brief Encounter, with an exquisite vocal turn that’s more 1930s than 50s, trying to make herself attractive for Barnabas whilst fantasising about bathing him; whether that’s like a baby or like a lover, is for you to decide. Well performed, and entertaining, but, for me, missing an edge that is more noticeable in most other Pinter plays.
A Slight Ache was really just a curtain-raiser for the long-awaited star-clash of Martin Freeman and Danny Dyer in The Dumb Waiter, Pinter’s 1957 two-hander, which features two gangster-type hitmen waiting in a basement for the instructions for their next job. As in A Slight Ache, the outside world encroaches on to their comfortless, although well-organised, little domestic arrangement, with an unruly kettle and an even unrulier toilet in the adjacent room, an envelope containing a dozen matches thrust under the door by hand unknown; and of course, the dumb waiter.
I’ll return to the play in the next paragraph, but let’s just take a minute to respect that curious entity, the dumb waiter. You may not know this, gentle reader, but my parents ran a village pub, and in 1970 the brewery who owned said establishment decided it was time we had a refurbishment. To encourage the early art of pub grub, they installed a dumb waiter that connected our kitchen upstairs to the sink area behind the Saloon Bar. It was a big, heavy contraption. Two thick ropes worked a pulley mechanism that sent this wooden box, with two shelves, up and down between the floors. It rather blew my childish brain that there was part of the building that belonged both upstairs and downstairs. I was fascinated by it, and would happily spend hours pointlessly sending items upstairs and downstairs just because I could. It linked two separate worlds; when you were in the kitchen, you had no idea what was going on behind the bar, and when you were in the bar, you had no idea what was happening in the kitchen. But you could send these enclosed shelves, up and down, as a kind of fact-finding emissary; ever-reliable, sharing the secrets of the seedy underworld and the lofty overworld. The Dowager Mrs Chrisparkle finally retired from that pub in 1988; but eighteen years on, the dumb waiter still worked as smoothly and as magically as ever.
Pinter’s Dumb Waiter comes with a voice tube; much more high-tech than our humble example, and providing an even stronger link from that dingy basement to the outside world. Ben and Gus, the nefarious couple, have no idea it’s there at first; which is why, when it suddenly comes to life, it’s a shock to us all; and the random sequence of food orders, that the guys have absolutely no way of fulfilling, is hilarious in its total pointlessness. But whilst they’re doing their best to please the masters upstairs, Ben also receives his orders for the job that he and Gus are expecting. And although Ben confirms that it’s “the normal method to be employed”, it looks like this will be the last job they do together…
The combination of Messrs Freeman and Dyer is something of a Pinteresque dream team. Mr Freeman’s Gus is a nervous, fidgety, inquisitive guy; the type who has to break a silence (and being Pinter, there are plenty of those!), the type who thrives on being reassured. Mr Dyer’s Ben is more laid-back, with the natural authority of superiority and the confidence to wait quietly; it’s he who communicates with the powers that be up above, but it’s also he who sweats the pressure of satisfying the bosses. In civil service terms, Gus is the Administrative Assistant whilst Ben is the Executive Officer.
Both actors lend aspects of their own personalities and style to their characters, so that they’re immensely believable – in a sense you feel that perhaps there’s not a lot of acting required. Mr Dyer, in particular, always has that cheeky, irreverent sparkle in the corner of his eyes, so even when he’s being Proper Menacing, there’s a glint of a Likely Lad in there too. And although there’s no doubt that there’s a lot of menace lurking about the backwaters of this play, it’s performed fully for laughs and the audience recognises it as the crowd-pleaser it’s clearly designed to be. Only 27 performances scheduled for Pinter Seven, so you’d better be quick – it finishes on 23rd February!
P. S. Pinter Seven was to be the last of the season but that plucky little Tom Hiddleston has popped up with a production of Pinter’s Betrayal, which has now been tacked on to the end to make an unofficial Pinter Eight. This could carry on for ages. I think it’s unlikely we’re going to see this one – I’m very happy with my memories of John Simm in Betrayal in Sheffield in 2012 – and ATG have somewhat cynically whacked up the prices for this new production. One can have too much of a good thing!
Production photos by Marc Brenner