Lloyd Evans

Lloyd Evans

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

PMQs: A scrappy battle of the deputies

Throwing money away. That was the big topic at PMQs today. Rishi Sunak has flown to Washington for talks with Joe Biden, (which is probably the President’s only scheduled appointment this month.) The deputies slugged it out in the Commons. Angela Rayner brought up an admission by the Public Accounts Committee that a fortune in tax-payers’ money has flown out of the window. A total of £21 billion is missing, presumed stolen. Rishi’s understudy, Oliver Dowden, claimed that things weren’t that bad because a quarter of the lost money would be found. ‘We’re working tirelessly to recover those funds,’ he said. Tirelessly? He sound like a bored rescue-worker tackling a house-fire with a water-pistol. Here’s the bottom-line. The Tories have waved bye-bye to £15.

Hamlet fans will love this: Re-Member Me, at Hampstead Theatre, reviewed

A puzzle at Hampstead Theatre. Literally, a brain teaser. Its new production, Re-member Me, is a one-man show written and performed by Dickie Beau, whose name is a punning allusion to a bow tie. The oddly spelled word, ‘re-member’ refers to the process of reassembling the separated limbs of a dramatic character during the rehearsal process. The poster for the production centres on Mr Beau dressed in 1980s sports gear and wearing a T-shirt blazoned with the logo of ‘Wittenberg University’, written in German. Enfolding his skull is a rainbow headband. These details tell us that the play examines the character of Hamlet with a particular focus on the travails of gay actors performing the role during the 1980s Aids epidemic.

Much better than the film: Mrs Doubtfire, at Shaftesbury Theatre, reviewed

Mrs Doubtfire is a social comedy about divorce. We meet Miranda, a talentless, bitter mother, who tires of her caring but imperfect husband, Daniel, and kicks him out of the house on some footling pretext. When Miranda later discovers that Daniel’s loyalty to their children is an asset of inestimable value she invites him back. And he accepts her offer without a murmur of recrimination. The story is based on the cruel imbalances in family law that entitle a vengeful, heartless woman like Miranda to destroy the emotional wellbeing of her children and her husband, and to call her vandalism justice. In this story Daniel is a voiceover artist who impersonates an eccentric Scottish nanny, Mrs Doubtfire, and persuades Miranda to hire him as their kids’ carer. A neat set-up.

Is Sadiq Khan really taking air pollution seriously?

London is killing us. That’s the conclusion of Sadiq Khan’s alarming new book, Breathe: Tackling the Climate Emergency, which he publicised last night at a 90-minute event held in the Royal Festival Hall.   The sales pitch for Khan’s book was disturbed by hecklers and protestors who blew whistles and shouted constant abuse at the mayor. ‘F*** off, Joseph Goebbels, you c***,’ was a typical insult.   Khan ignored the protests as he introduced himself at the podium and read out a page from his book. He seems perfectly accustomed to being screamed at in public by the electorate.

What’s this? A good joke from Sir Keir?

Strange tactics by Sir Keir at PMQs. He raised the issue of broken promises on immigration, which gave Rishi Sunak a chance to sound tougher than Labour. ‘How many work visas were issued to foreign nationals last year?’ asked Sir Keir. Rishi dodged the question and blamed the unexpectedly large influx on the Ukraine war. And he mentioned his personal and very generous decision to welcome refugees into other people’s houses. Sir Keir supplied the figure Rishi had just ducked: ‘It’s 250,000. He knows the answer. He just doesn’t want to give it.’ Rishi seized his chance to accuse Labour of plotting to scrap our borders altogether. ‘He believes in an open-door immigration policy,’ he said.

Ugly and humdrum: Brokeback Mountain, at @sohoplace, reviewed

Brokeback Mountain, a play with music, opens in a scruffy bedroom where a snowy-haired tramp finds a lumberjack’s shirt and places it over his nose. Then he inhales. Who is this elderly vagrant? And why is he absorbing the scent of an abandoned garment? Two hours later, at the play’s close, we finally learn that the old man, Ennis, is sniffing a shirt that once belonged to Jack Twist who became his lover while they worked as shepherds in Wyoming. Yes, shepherds. The ‘gay cowboy’ label is a misnomer because the lads are ranching sheep, and their affair belongs to the half-forgotten days of homosexual persecution. The precise year, 1963, is signalled to us with a clunky line from Jack about JFK’s decision to escalate America’s involvement in Vietnam.

PMQs was a battle of the understudies

The party leaders were absent today so the understudies stepped in. Angela Rayner filled the vacuum that is Sir Keir Starmer, while Oliver Dowden performed for Rishi Sunak. Rayner had prepared for the encounter by spending the entire morning in hair and make-up. Result, a sharp off-white jacket and matching slacks. And her famous ginger locks spilled out luxuriously over her padded shoulders. An eye-catching display, certainly, but perhaps not the right wardrobe for the deputy leader of the people’s party. She looked like a Miami sales assistant who flogs yachts to billionaires. She was gracious in welcoming Dowden to the despatch box and joked that he was the ‘third deputy prime minister I’ve faced in three years.’ And she took a swipe at Rishi’s public school background.

Sad, blinkered and incoherent: Arcola’s The Misandrist reviewed

A new play, The Misandrist, looks at modern dating habits. Rachel is a smart, self-confident woman whose partner is a timid desperado named Nick. Both accept that Rachel must make all the important decisions in their lives and she orders Nick to submit to ‘pegging’. After some perfunctory resistance, Nick obeys. ‘Lube me up,’ he cries and she plunges a pink truncheon deep into his digestive tract. Afterwards he claims that the experience was so uplifting that even his ancestors enjoyed a taste of bliss from beyond the grave. Lisa Carroll’s ironic and frivolous comedy is fun to watch. The characters are enjoyable and the lightweight, throwaway acting meets the script’s requirements.

Top marks for Keir Starmer’s joke writers at PMQs

Sir Keir’s gag-writers were on good form at PMQs. Last week, the Tories lowered expectations by predicting a loss of 1,000 seats at the local election. And this worst-case scenario came true. ‘At last,’ crowed Sir Keir, ‘a Tory promise they haven’t actually broken.’ He also took aim at Rishi’s democratic illegitimacy. In last year’s leadership contest, Rishi lost to Liz Truss who was then outlasted by a lettuce. ‘He entered a two-horse race and somehow managed to come third,’ said Sir Keir. Labour’s backbenchers roared at this like bison feasting in fresh green pasture. They can smell power in the air, and the breeze is moving their way.

Riveting and sumptuous: The Motive and the Cue, at the Lyttelton Theatre, reviewed

The Motive and the Cue breaches the inviolable sanctity of the rehearsal room. The play, set in New York in 1964, follows John Gielgud’s efforts to direct the world’s biggest film star, Richard Burton, in Shakespeare’s most demanding play, Hamlet. A member of Gielgud’s company, Richard L. Sterne, recorded the process and his notes form the basis of Sam Mendes’s riveting production. The show is a must for anyone who works in the theatre or wants to. Directors, in particular, will relish the glimpse it offers into Gielgud’s approach to a uniquely demanding text and to a wayward superstar who was free to accept or to challenge the notes given during rehearsals.

Keir Starmer’s gutter politics is working

Powerful stuff from Sir Keir Starmer at PMQs. He tackled Rishi Sunak on his favourite battleground – statistics. He began by pinning the PM down on a very specific question. How many mortgage-holders have to pay more each month because the Tories ‘crashed the economy last autumn’? Rishi didn’t know. Sir Keir gave him the answer and promptly gloated over the PM’s failure to reply. Next he asked how many future mortgage-holders will enter the trap of rising payments. No reply from Rishi. He simply didn’t know. Bad look.  Sir Keir has wisely shifted the focus of his attacks. Rather than complaining about Mrs Sunak’s bank balance – which feels ungallant – he brought up the family swimming pool which, he claimed, costs £9,000 a year to heat.

So good it would have made Ibsen envious: Dixon and Daughters, at the Dorfman Theatre, reviewed

Deborah Bruce's new play Dixon and Daughters is a family drama that opens on a note of sour mistrust. We’re in a working-class home in Yorkshire where a vituperative old crosspatch, Mary, has just returned from prison. Rather than accepting her daughters’ friendly welcome she treats them all with open hostility. Had Ibsen been in attendance, he would have blushed with envy  Her first malevolent act is to try to evict Julie, even though her boyfriend has subjected her to horrific and repeated violence. And Mary is highly suspicious of the absent Briana who has changed her name and is threatening to return home, by force if necessary. What was Briana’s crime? And why is Mary so hostile to Julie who clearly needs her love and support?

The grudge-mongers were out in force at PMQs

Grievance fever gripped the house at Prime Minister's Questions. The grudge-mongers were out in force. Sir Keir Starmer led the charge and asked Rishi Sunak why he refused to scrap non-dom status. The Labour leader answered his own question by explaining that the tax exemption enriches Rishi’s ‘family’. (By ‘family’ he meant ‘wife’, of course, and the encryption helped him dodge the charge that he’s turning Mrs Sunak into a public hate-figure – which is exactly what he’s doing.) Sir Keir expects us to envy and loathe the Sunaks for being successful Sir Keir expects us to envy and loathe the Sunaks for being successful. But a lot of people loathe anyone who loathes success. Perhaps Sir Keir should enlarge his social circle.

Famine zones are more fun than this play: Dancing at Lughnasa, at the Olivier Theatre, reviewed

Snowflakes, an excellent title, rehashes The Dumb Waiter by Harold Pinter. A guest in a hotel room is visited by two intruders posing as staff. The intruders are hired assassins who accuse the guest of committing a half-explained hate crime on social media. His punishment, execution, will be livestreamed as a warning to other hate criminals. Brian Friel’s shrieking bumpkins are exactly what the Arts Council wants us to see It’s a thrilling start but the show lacks tension and the accused’s back story isn’t explained fully. And once the sentence has been carried out, the story becomes predictable. The core idea – freelance killers dispensing justice on behalf of tech giants – would make a great TV series. It needs a lot of development.

There was yet more proof of the SNP’s megalomania at PMQs

‘Sir Softie.’ That’s Rishi’s new nickname for Sir Keir Starmer. ‘Sir Softie,’ he called out twice at PMQs. ‘He’s soft on crime!’ The insult works because it’s easy to remember and pleasantly alliterative. And it builds on an existing perception of Sir Keir as a criminal-hugging lawyer. Sir Keir set out to overturn that impression by posing as the scourge of the law-breaking classes. He started with a trick question. Citing the case of a man found guilty of scalding a prison officer with boiling water, he asked if the offender deserved a jail sentence. Rishi could tell that this was a booby-trap so he answered in generalities. Sir Keir had to unpick his subterfuge.

Why do theatres hate their audiences?

War has broken out in theatreland. Managements are increasingly at odds with the audiences who fund their livelihoods. A recent stand-off involved James Norton’s new show, A Little Life, which contains a couple of scenes in which the actor removes his clothes. A punter at a preview in Richmond secretly photographed the moments of nudity and posted the images online. This sparked a furore in the newspapers and the majority of commentators took the producers’ side against the theatre-goers. Dr Kirsty Sedgman, a media studies lecturer, spoke piously to the Independent about ‘an absolute violation of the unwritten contract between audiences and performers’. The Mirror reported that ‘drastic measures’ might be needed to ensure that similar ‘privacy breaches’ don’t occur.

A puzzling spectacle: The Secret Life of Bees, at the Almeida Theatre, reviewed

The Secret Life of Bees is a fairy-tale set in the Deep South in 1964. Lily, a bullied white girl, befriends a plucky black maid, Rosaleen, and they escape together from Lily’s tyrannical dad. After various adventures they take sanctuary at a honey farm run by a commune of astonishingly successful African-American businesswomen. This story clearly wants to expose the cruelty of whites and the oppression of blacks but the details suggest the opposite. This is a tale of black self-confidence and white failure. Spineless Lily could never have fled her abusive dad without the intelligent and combative Rosaleen to spur her on. And the all-female honey corporation is a fantasy of African-American empowerment.

An epic bore: A Little Life, at the Harold Pinter Theatre, reviewed

A Little Life, based on Hanya Yanagihara’s novel, is set in a New York apartment shared by four mega-successful yuppies: an architect, a fine artist, a film star and a Wall Street attorney, Jude, played by James Norton. A friendly doctor tags along occasionally and an older lawyer, in his sixties, joins the gang after legally adopting Jude. None of the men has a partner or a family, and they never discuss things like sport, cars, investments, movies or girls. Instead they hug a lot and cook pastries for each other in a kitchenette on stage. The play feels like a joke-free episode of Friends with an all-male cast. And the script might have been written by a teenage girl.

Deeply unsatisfying: Berlusconi – A New Musical, at Southwark Playhouse Elephant, reviewed

Berlusconi: A New Musical, an excellent title, has opened at a new venue in south London, Southwark Playhouse Elephant. The show begins with the former Italian prime minister preening triumphantly on a white marble set that resembles the Capitol in Rome where Caesar was murdered by rivals who’d grown sick of his power lust. Berlusconi introduces us to his nemesis, a state prosecutor called Ilda Boccassini, who pursues him for years through the courts. With typical coarseness he dismisses her as a ‘haggard old sow’. And yet the pair perform a strange romantic dance that culminates in a bizarre Berlusconi chat-up line: ‘If you weren’t so frigid we’d end up in bed.’ Misogyny is his defining characteristic. Gallantry and charm are alien to him.

A totally unmemorable PMQs for Raab and Rayner

Rishi Sunak missed PMQs to attend Betty Boothroyd’s funeral and a half-empty chamber watched the deputies, Dominic Raab and Angela Rayner, slug it out. Rayner, always a crowd-pleaser, began by hailing the late Paul O’Grady as ‘a true northern star.’ And she had fun with the new crackdown on street thuggery or ‘anti-social behaviour’ as our genteel government puts it. Rayner linked this to the Dominic ‘Raabspierre’ allegations made by a handful of snowflake civil servants who felt that the Justice Secretary had mistreated them. It was good knockabout stuff. Rayner suggested that Raab had personal knowledge of louts ‘exploding in fits of rage and creating a culture of fear, and maybe even, I don’t know, throwing things?’ Raab guessed this was coming.