Lloyd Evans

Lloyd Evans

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

Why I’m selling my vote to my son

From our UK edition

‘How are you going to pay me back?’ This is the eternal question of the hard-pressed dad as he hands £10 to a teenage son with an urgent appointment at the snooker club. ‘My Saturday job,’ says Isaac satirically. He hasn’t got a Saturday job and that’s my fault, apparently. His friends all have immensely well-connected parents who can offer them high-powered internships at Miramax and Coutts. But Isaac hasn’t secured one of these coveted placements. His mother, an archivist, employs an assistant who doesn’t need a second assistant. And the only professionals I know are narcissistic scribblers who sit at their laptops in a fug of crack fumes and unwashed laundry.

Rishi came under attack from all sides at PMQs

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The plot to shoot Diane Abbot dominated PMQs. The Tory donor, Frank Hester, reportedly said that the MP for Hackney North inspired violent thoughts in him, and made him want to ‘hate all black women.’ Sir Keir Starmer asked if Rishi Sunak was happy to be bankrolled by someone who harboured fantasies about gunshots and bullet wounds. Rishi replied in kind and trotted out insults like ‘scum’ and ‘Nazi’ that have been hurled at the Tories by Labour members over the years. He pleaded for tolerance towards his financial backer. ‘He has rightly apologised. And that remorse should be accepted.

Did we really need Warsi and Baddiel’s podcast?

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Podcast fever continues to dominate the political airwaves. The rewards for success are enormous and popular podcasters are able to fill concert halls around the county by delivering a couple of hours of chitchat to willing punters. Since the running costs are minimal, the profits are vast. This explains the gold-rush of media darlings and former politicians thronging into the digital space. Often the shows are billed as acrimonious punch-ups between sworn enemies like George Osborne and Ed Balls or Rory Stewart and Alastair Campbell. But the presence of a microphone seems to sweeten the mood and to turn animosity into peace and harmony. Listeners are likely to feel cheated.

This play about Hitchcock isn’t worth leaving the house for

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Double Feature is a new play by John Logan, whose credits include Skyfall. The subject is movie-making, and the action is set in 1964 in a Hollywood cottage where Alfred Hitchcock is preparing Tippi Hedren for a nude scene in Marnie. The great director, who made a star of the unknown Hedren by casting her in The Birds, has all the power here. He positively quivers to get her into bed and yet he hesitates because he’s three times her age and nine times her girth. Nobody, not even a director of Kent’s powers, can make a gourmet feast out of two half-eaten pizzas Their interactions have a gruesome master-slave vibe and it’s hard to know whose side to take. The control-freak director who appears physically revolting despite his natty suit?

Even Sunak didn’t think Hunt’s Budget was worth listening to

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Jeremy Hunt is the spotty, speccy geek who doesn’t wear specs and doesn’t have spots. But ‘geek’ is very much Hunt’s brand. He’s a gangly, uncool type who, for no reason whatever, is as tall as a basketball player. In his Budget he set out to promote Continuity Conservatism, and spoke as if this were a mid-term financial plan from a steady-eddie Tory administration. He kept saying ‘since 2010’ as he boasted of Tory achievements that go back 14 years. He claimed that ‘800 jobs’ had been added ‘every day’ since the Conservatives took power and he said that they'd hired ‘250 more doctors and 400 more nurses for every month we’ve been in office.’ He fired off easy shots at the rowdy Labour benches.

118 minutes too long: The Picture of Dorian Gray, at the Theatre Royal Haymarket, reviewed

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Sarah Snook, who appeared in Succession, takes centre stage in Kip Williams’s adaptation of Oscar Wilde’s only novel. The best thing about The Picture of Dorian Gray is the narrative premise: a young aristocrat commissions a portrait of himself and the image grows old while he retains his youthful good looks. It’s a ghost story, really, and Dorian ‘dies’ when the portrait is completed and then haunts his own life as an ageless and untouchable spirit. Wilde used the book as a literary showcase for his aphorisms. On ageing: ‘The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young.

Who’s more embarrassing: Corbyn or Truss?

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Sir Keir Starmer’s advisers have very short memories. At PMQs, the Labour leader mocked Liz Truss for visiting America to ‘flog a new book in search of fame and wealth’. He jeered at her suggestion that ‘the deep state’ had sabotaged her career, and he put it to Rishi Sunak that the Tories have become ‘the political wing of the Flat Earth Society.’ Sir Keir forgets that his predecessor, Jeremy Corbyn, is far more embarrassing than Liz Truss whose premiership was over in less time than it takes to eat a toffee apple. Corbyn was Labour leader for four years and Sir Keir was one of his favoured lieutenants. Rishi couldn’t believe his luck. Here was an opportunity to remind the world of Corbyn’s worst offence.  ‘He called Hamas our friends,’ said Rishi.

Dramatically riveting and visually superb: Dear Octopus, at the Lyttelton Theatre, reviewed

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Big budget, huge stage, massive temptation. The Lyttelton is a notorious elephant-trap for designers who feel obliged to fill every inch of space with effortful proof of their brilliance. Frankie Bradshaw, designer of Dear Octopus, avoids these snares and instead creates a modest playing area, smaller than the actual stage, which is bookended by a doorway on one side and a fireplace on the other. These physical boundaries draw the actors towards the middle of the stage with a staircase overhead to complete the frame. Brilliant stuff. Perfectly simple, too. Any director planning to work at the Lyttelton should see Emily Burns’s fabulous production. So should everyone else.

Parliament’s Gaza vote won’t help anyone

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The big issue at PMQs today was the motion calling for an end to hostilities in Gaza. In itself this is extraordinary, bordering on the outright barmy. The British mandate in Palestine expired in 1948 but many MPs seem to imagine that this troubled corner of the Middle East is part of their constituencies. The derangement is strongest on the left where people who disparage everything the Empire once represented seem to pine for its reinstatement as soon as they find a hotspot they want to rescue. Some commentators wondered if ‘Batman syndrome’ would strike Sir Keir Starmer but he refused to don the cape and tights today. Instead he opted for the lawyer’s wig. Starmer’s goal was to duck out of talking about Gaza early and avoid turning it into a headline issue.

It’s no Jerusalem: Jez Butterworth’s Hills of California, at Harold Pinter Theatre, reviewed

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Fifteen years after penning his mega-hit Jerusalem, Jez Butterworth has knocked out a new drama. The slightly baffling title, The Hills of California, refers to a hit by Johnny Mercer (the US songwriter not the MP for Plymouth) and it suggests American themes and locations. But the show is set in a knackered old Blackpool boarding house in the 1970s, where three sisters are waiting for their elderly mum to croak. It takes an hour of chit-chat to explain what’s happening. When the sisters were little, their ambitious mother forced them to perform song-and-dance routines in the hope of launching them as kiddie superstars on the new medium of television. The eldest girl, Joan, quit the group at the age of 15 and fled to America to make it big.

Does Rishi Sunak think Labour is already running the country?

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He strutted into the middle of the studio in dark slacks and a creaseless white shirt. Nippy, zestful, ready for anything. Rishi Sunak submitted to a public inquisition on GB News last night and he looked like the guy who warms up the crowd for a motivational speech by Tom Cruise. But Rishi was the headline act. And he was desperate to prepare us for another administration run by Rishi. His opening remarks covered his ‘five priorities – your priorities’ and gave him a chance to quack out his current favourite soundbite, ‘stick with this plan or go back to Square One with Keir Starmer.’  He sounded hesitant and unsure when he added, ‘I’m going to win the next election’ Then it was over to the public.

Svitlana Morenets, Paul Mason, Robbie Mallett and Lloyd Evans

From our UK edition

26 min listen

This week: Svitlana Morenets takes us inside Ukraine's new plan for mass conscription (01:01); Paul Mason says that Labour is right to ditch its £28 billion green pledge (10:49); Robbie Mallett tells us about life as a scientist working in Antarctica (15:48); and Lloyd Evans reads his Life column (21:24).  Produced and presented by Oscar Edmondson.

An unmistakable hit: Till the Stars Come Down, at the Dorfman Theatre, reviewed

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Till the Stars Come Down is a raucous, high-energy melodrama set at a wedding in Hull. The writer, Beth Steel, focuses on three female characters and virtually ignores the men in her story which is just as well because her male characters all talk and act like planks. Her women are full of courage, craziness and fun. This is a hit. West End, easily Broadway, maybe. Pack your bags, girls We meet Sylvia, the anxious bride, who fears that her family won’t accept her Polish spouse, Marek. Her sister, Hazel, is facing a romantic crisis because her husband has stopped paying her attention in bed. And sexy Maggie harbours a secret that’s bound to spill out during the drunken festivities. The three shrieking women exchange ribald gags.

The reality of food banks

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The old man next door asked me to collect his parcel from the food bank. ‘Sure,’ I said. I joined a queue of 20 starvelings outside a chapel in the East End. Most were migrants carrying rucksacks or bags for life, and there were a few Cockney mums with fidgety nippers in tow. Everyone in the queue had a mobile phone – which is normal these days – and most were dressed for the Olympic Games in Adidas sprint shoes, Nike jogging pants and Reebok breathable weightlifting shirts. I felt distinctly under-dressed in my Oxfam castoffs. Despite their keep-fit attire, many of the applicants seemed to be on the corpulent side, and one or two had stepped proudly out of the closet and were openly obese. Good for them.

Keir Starmer’s shameful behaviour at PMQs

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‘Apologise!’ This was the bogus battle-cry that rang out repeatedly at today’s PMQs. Rishi Sunak was asked to genuflect to his enemies and show contrition for fictional sins. The trouble began when Sir Keir Starmer told us that the mother of Brianna Ghey, a transgender girl killed in February, was present in the public gallery. ‘As a father, I can’t even imagine the pain she’s going through,’ he said, strangely placing himself at the centre of somebody else’s nightmare. Sir Keir, unaware of what was about to transpire, then mounted a routine attack on Rishi's unfulfilled pledges. The PM called this ‘a bit rich’ coming from a Labour leader who had broken ‘almost 30 promises.

Casting an able-bodied actor as Richard III isn’t ‘offensive’

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The row over Richard III rumbles on. Disability groups have objected to the Globe’s forthcoming production in which Michelle Terry will take the lead. The able-bodied Terry, who happens to be the Globe’s artistic director, has apologised ‘for the pain or harm that has been caused by the decision for me to play Richard III.’ This carefully worded statement gives the impression that some external authority reached ‘the decision’ to award her the role but was that really the case? Casting decisions at the Globe, she goes on, are made ‘rigorously’ and ‘always in dialogue with members of our many communities.’ One of the 'communities' she seems to have ignored is the fellowship of white male actors for whom the bulk of Shakespeare’s parts were written.

Meandering, flat and witless: Plaza Suite, at the Savoy Theatre, reviewed

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Plaza Suite is a sketch show by Neil Simon set in a luxury New York hotel in 1968. The play is rarely revived and it’s never been staged in the West End before. Simon’s idea (which Noël Coward accused him of stealing from his play Suite in Three Keys) is to place a trio of unrelated stories in the same hotel room. Simon struggles to find good endings for his set-ups and he keeps scribbling page after page of chit-chat in the hope of stumbling on a decent exit-line. He can’t do it. The dialogue sounds true to life but it’s also meandering, flat and witless – the sort of drivel you’d overhear in a vet’s waiting room.

The unexpected star of PMQs is a man you’ve never heard of

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Let’s hear it for Phil. The unexpected hero of PMQs was an Iceland employee in Warrington (referred to as ‘Phil’, no surname given) whom Sir Keir Starmer held up as a victim of Tory fiscal mismanagement. Doubtless poor Phil had no idea his personal circumstances were about to dominate today’s parliamentary punch-up.  The session began as a typical ding-dong between the party leaders who accused each other of lies, failure and incompetence. Sir Keir asked Rishi Sunak to detail the costs faced by a typical mortgage-holder with a fixed-term deal that expires this week. To the surprise of no one, except Sir Keir, Rishi rattled off the precise figures. So Sir Keir ruled Rishi’s unanswerable reply out of order.

Visually world-class, dramatically second-rate: Don’t Destroy Me, at the Arcola, reviewed

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Don’t Destroy Me is the rather breathless title of Michael Hastings’s first play which he wrote when he was just 18. The material draws on his adolescent years in a south London boarding house and the action opens with an elderly husband, Leo, and his unfaithful young wife, Shani, preparing for a visit from their handsome teenage son, Sammy. Leo knows that his marriage is being undermined by Shani’s affair with a cocky spiv who lives next door but this tawdry business fades into the background as the play starts to come alive. The characters upstairs take over. The flat above is occupied by Mrs Pond, a pretentious fraud in her early forties who is desperate for romance and attention.

Has Rishi Sunak already given up?

From our UK edition

Sir Keir’s spin doctors have been enjoying clips of Tony Blair’s performances as opposition leader. In the mid-1990s, Blair took aim at John Major with this, ‘I lead my party, he follows his.’ At today’s PMQs, Sir Keir tried the same judo-throw on Rishi Sunak. ‘I’ve changed my party. He’s bullied by his,’ he said. Less smooth, somehow. The session was dominated by facile insults and awkward name-calling. Sir Keir wants to depict Rishi as a pampered globalist who spent the 2008 financial crash in the banking sector, ‘making millions betting on the misery of working families.’ At the same time, noble Sir Keir was putting ‘terrorists and murderers’ in jail.