Lloyd Evans

Lloyd Evans

Lloyd Evans is The Spectator's sketch-writer and theatre critic

Rent has not aged well

Rent is a show about mortality haunted by the untimely death of its author, Jonathan Larson. On the eve of the first preview in 1996, he underwent heart surgery but he didn’t survive to see his creation become one of the most enduring hits in musical-theatre history. The producers of Luke Sheppard’s version don’t need reviewers to offer their verdict because the show has a worldwide band of disciples who maintain its bankability. On press night, the loyalists clearly adored what they’d seen. The script takes the plot of Puccini’s La bohème and transfers it to New York’s East Village in the 1990s where a salon of artistes are facing eviction.

What’s a Britain First rally really like?

The far right are on the march so I decided to take a look. I travelled to a market town in deepest England and joined a rally organised by Britain First. The police had been alerted and there were white vans parked outside the train station with clusters of burly officers ready to waddle into action. The town square was occupied by two demonstrations separated by flimsy steel barriers and a fluttering line of blue and white police ribbon. The Britain First supporters, with their Union Flags hoisted high, had assembled in a churchyard beneath an Anglo-Saxon tower. Beyond the barrier, a crowd of 100 left-wingers taunted them through a loud hailer: ‘Nazi scum, off our streets.’ The atmosphere was hostile but not violent.

The Standard of Living didn’t make me feel anything

James Graham’s new play is a biography of John Maynard Keynes, known as ‘Mennid’ to his friends, which feels like a visit to a stately home. Mennid narrates the show and introduces us to the main events and personalities of his life but he doesn’t get involved. This is a eulogy, not a drama. He’s a civilised oddball, a highly polished introvert, a maths geek with a saviour complex. His mission is to rescue Britain from the Great Depression by increasing the national debt and blowing the loans on railways and power stations. He uses his lectures to tell a fairy tale about a mythical traveller who finds a dying village and revives its economy by spending £1 in the local tavern.

​The problem with Sting’s musical

The Last Ship, a musical written by and featuring Sting, is touring Europe, Australia and America. The show is a class-war parable set in Newcastle during the 1980s. A team of shipbuilders are about to complete a new vessel, the Utopia, when a bossy government minister, Baroness Tynedale, arrives at the docks to deliver bad news. With her bright- blue suit and posh hectoring voice, she’s a pantomime Mrs Thatcher and she announces that the yard will be seized and flogged to private investors. The shipbuilders establish a Marxist committee and plot to overturn her evil scheme. A gripping start. Plucky Geordies pitted against yuppie scavengers from London. The show even features a song about the competing merits of collectivism and monetarism. Then it all implodes.

London’s one unforgiveable crime

Everyone knows the rules. London invented trains that run underground as well as the protocol that makes the system bearable. A London Tube passenger enjoys the same prerogatives as an evil tyrant in a fairy tale. Do not stare. Do not approach. Do not distract him in any way. Respect the cocoon of solitude that protects him from the surrounding hubbub. But this simple covenant is not universally observed. Since I moved to London in 1973, I have twice been bothered by chatterboxes on the Tube. Twice, yes. It may sound like a minor annoyance to an outsider but residents of London will recognise the agony I have suffered. The first intrusion occurred in 1991 as I sat on the District line at Earl’s Court. A fat drunkard elbowed my arm and asked me where the train was heading.

One for hardcore fans: Golden Boy reviewed

Golden Boy, written by Clifford Odets in 1937, feels like a Norman Wisdom movie. A talented boxer wants to become a great violinist so he refuses to throw heavy punches in case he damages his fingers. The boxer, Joe, comes from a loving family who urge him to pursue a musical career but he meets a greedy, fast-talking agent, Tom, who promises him wealth and fame in the ring. To prise Joe away from his family, Tom encourages his adorable girlfriend, Lorna, to use her influence on him. Lorna promptly falls in love with Joe and the romantic triangle adds heaps of conflict to his career as a boxing champ. Josh O’Connor, looking more like a Hungarian philosopher than a streetfighter, brings an arrogant physicality to the role of Joe.

A sumptuous set that’s too good for the play

The Children by Lucy Kirkwood is a life-or-death drama about three ageing boffins invited to fix a broken atomic power station and save Britain from nuclear disaster. There’s one snag: radiation poisoning will end their lives. Should the old crocks accept the kamikaze mission? The setting for this macabre tale is a cosy farmhouse occupied by 64-year-old Hazel (Meera Syal) and her chattering Irish husband Robin (Declan Conlon). Their colleague Rose (Kerry Fox) shows up after many decades working abroad and she urges them to join the suicidal engineers working on the radioactive site. The stakes are low because the characters are too old for their love lives to matter much The script contains a lot of chit-chat that relates only tenuously to the main story.

Never trust a happy jogger

What is it for? Jogging means being in a hurry to get nowhere in particular as fast as possible. And it qualifies as certifiable behaviour. The madman can see the purpose of his actions but the sane man can’t. City-dwellers are more prone to this mental abnormality than rural folk, who prefer not to go loping through fields of wheat or scampering over the muddied divots of an open moor. In cities, the lunatics are -everywhere, which makes it tricky for the authorities to detain them under the Mental Health Act. Some joggers know that chasing around their neighbourhood like a hamster on a wheel is a little crazy. Hence ‘jogger’s face’, the anguished expression worn by many of the semi-athletes as they galumph along the streets. ‘Why am I doing this?’ they cry inwardly.

Why has the National chosen to put on this cumbersome old play?

The National Theatre’s latest show, written in 2003, has bundles of energy and ideas. A thrusting young reporter, Yvonne, investigates the shooting of a yuppie in a rundown part of a teeming US metropolis. She learns that the murder was committed by a cross-dressing gang of all-female muggers, known as AOBs, whose leader, Latisha, is a teenage genius. Her parents were alcoholic derelicts and yet she taught herself several European languages while growing up in poverty. Yvonne, who also happens to be multilingual, banters with her in Italian and German. But will Latisha confess and give the newspaper an exclusive?

Marilyn Monroe was a bore

Who Killed Marilyn? is a new show about an old subject. Sharleen Cooper Cohen’s play examines the circumstances surrounding Marilyn’s suspicious death in 1962. Three possible culprits emerge. The mob, the Feds and the Kennedys. Bobby and Jack were desperate to hide any trace of their romantic links with Marilyn. The mob may have rubbed her out by order of the Feds whose boss, J. Edgar Hoover, paid gangsters to conduct irregular assassinations. Hoover hated JFK, we’re told. And Marilyn kept a secret diary that might have ruined JKF’s career. But that gives Hoover a reason to protect Marilyn and to use her testimony against the Kennedys. The mob also hated JFK because he failed to oust Fidel Castro from Cuba. So they had a powerful motive to keep her alive as well.

My radical plan for the House of Lords

A neighbour betrayed me to her 16-year-old son. ‘Lloyd knows about politics,’ she told the youngster. ‘He can help you with your essay.’ I was introduced to a spotty teenager who appraised me suspiciously through a pair of smudged NHS glasses. ‘What’s the essay about?’ I asked. ‘Politics,’ he said. That seemed to leave the field wide open. ‘Contact a few members of the House of Lords and ask them to name their greatest achievement.’ He nodded. ‘Sounds good, thanks,’ he said with an air of finality, like a chef asking a new minion to sweep the floor. I accepted defeat. My plan had been to give him a sagacious ruling from on high. ‘Listen, m’lad. Always do your homework or you’ll end up doing someone else’s.’ But he understood that better than me.

A classic Alan Ayckbourn that’s made for Roger Allam

How the Other Half Loves is the play that established Alan Ayckbourn’s name as a writer of farce. Frank and Fiona, a posh, sophisticated couple, encounter problems in their marriage when Fiona has a fling with Bob, a handsome junior at Frank’s firm. Bob’s wife, Teresa, suspects Bob of infidelity and starts to investigate his social life. An innocent couple, William and Mary, are drawn into the muddle thanks to a series of misunderstandings. The centrepiece of the elaborate plot is a pair of dinner parties on successive nights performed simultaneously on a single set. Roger Allam is as cuddly as Paddington and as caustic as Peter Cook The complications are enjoyable to watch because you have to keep adjusting the pieces in your mind to make it all fit together.

The star of the Fringe

Attention spans at Edinburgh are brief. With thousands of shows on offer, the punters have to make a split-second decision based on the title and the poster. A blunt descriptive name works best, hence the popularity of Dan Kelly: How I Went to Every Supermarket in the World. Kelly spent 11 years as a data analyst collecting the prices of 164 basic items from supermarkets on every continent. The information was sold to international firms that needed to calculate the salaries of their overseas staff. Kelly, a solitary and obsessive character, liked to tour the shops with a dictaphone taped to his chest and to record the prices by muttering into the hidden microphone, like a spy. His adventures are limited to shopping centres in large cities so his observations lack surprises.

Tim Shipman, Arabella Byrne, Alex Burghart & Lloyd Evans

21 min listen

On this week’s Spectator Out Loud: Tim Shipman argues that politicians’ contempt for the press is really contempt for the public; Arabella Byrne asks if you have old money face; Alex Burghart says that Harold Godwinson has a touch of the Viking about him, as he reviews Harold: Warrior King by Tom Licence; and finally, Lloyd Evans reads his confessions of a dog hater. Produced and presented by Patrick Gibbons.

Tim Shipman, Arabella Byrne, Alex Burghart & Lloyd Evans

Confessions of a dog hater

‘Do you like animals?’ asked the woman at the door, collecting for a zoo. ‘No, I hate them, they keep trying to kill me,’ I said. That got rid of her. I feel a little ashamed of my hostility to animals, which I inherited from my mother. She was raised in rural Ireland and she loathed the countryside and all its non-speaking inhabitants. To her, animals were either predators or ingredients, and she particularly despised geese, rats, mice, squirrels and dogs. ‘Vermin,’ was one of her favourite nouns. And she regarded the word ‘pet’ as a self-deluding fantasy. Which seems reasonable. Animals cannot be tamed but their owners can be deceived. Any beast will turn murderous when cornered. Dog-hate entered my soul. It festers there still.

The slow death of the Edinburgh Fringe

The Edinburgh Fringe is getting bigger. Last year’s total of 3,893 shows is surpassed this year by 4,206 productions. More people are coming to Edinburgh in search of fame but the pressure of numbers doesn’t guarantee quality. Rival events are treading on Scotland’s turf. London produces two festivals in August that appear to challenge Edinburgh directly. The Camden Fringe offers 450 shows covering theatre, comedy, opera and dance, while the Greenwich and Docklands International Festival stages a mix of theatre, circus and street art. The Edinburgh Fringe used to hold a unique place in the world of British entertainment as an informal talent contest where newcomers were spotted, nurtured and launched as stars.

Zack Polanski reveals his instant soup politics

Zack Polanski enjoyed a cosy conversation with Iain Dale at the Edinburgh festival yesterday. They sounded and acted like old friends. Dale began by inviting Polanski to enlarge on his experiences growing up gay in Salford. His parents divorced when he was 11 and his wayward behaviour at school attracted a special monitoring regime, ‘full report,’ which obliged teachers to give a written assessment of his conduct after each lesson. As a teenager he was inspired by the Channel 4 series, ‘Queer As Folk,’ written by Russell T Davies.  ‘I realised I should be unapologetic about who I am. And there’s so much power in that,’ said Polanski. ‘To sum up,’ added Dale, ‘Davies gave you licence to be a slut.

An enjoyable circus show masquerading as education

Brainiac Live! is a ‘family science’ show based on a popular Sky TV programme. It’s ideal for children under 12 and for mums and dads who want an hour-long break from their normal parenting duties. The show is performed by a trio of lab-coated ‘brainiacs’, Ed, Ned and Raz, whose antics centre around loud bangs, naked flames, puffs of smoke and the destruction of props. The fun kicks off with a helmeted Ned preparing to dive into a sheet of cling film stretched across an empty doorframe. He runs. He leaps. He plunges through the transparent barrier which rips apart as he crash-lands on to a discarded mattress. Is that science? Not really. It’s a low-level stunt performed in conditions of extreme safety.

My friend the failure – and the star

‘Altogether Elsewhere.’ The title page of an unpublished travel book caught my eye during a recent clear-out. The author, Matthew Leeming, was a character who deserved to be famous but somehow never made it. He was imaginative, witty, fearless and greedy – wonderfully greedy. He inherited his father’s ceramics company and ran it for years with great success. He loved being rich. ‘Money,’ he used to say wistfully, ‘eases the pain of being alive.’ To pique women’s interest, he claimed to be off-limits. ‘I’m training for the Catholic priesthood,’ he confided He invented businesses out of thin air.

The Trainspotting musical is made for cruise ships

Plenty of critics have mocked Trainspotting – the musical (with lyrics and music by Irvine Welsh and Stephen McGuinness, respectively) but the producers know their audience’s mind. They want to see live theatre without taking the risk of a new play, which might be gruesome, and they prefer a dead-safe replica of a glamorous movie to something by Chekhov or Pinter. Reviewers admire novelty and inventiveness so they tend to punish theatre-makers who reheat leftovers. The show follows the book more closely than the film, where Renton was the central figure, and here he blends in with the community of wasters and criminals who mope around Edinburgh trying to raise cash for smack. The characters are reduced to simplistic gestures, as easy to read as hand signals. Begbie is a cocky thug.