Lloyd Evans

Lloyd Evans

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

It’s years since I saw anything as nasty as this: Cock at the Ambassadors Theatre reviewed

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Cock was written by Mike Bartlett in 2009 while he was in Mexico at a drama conference. The title suggests a cockpit where three characters compete for sexual dominance. W, meaning Woman, is a childminder attracted to a gay man, John, who is thick but handsome and deeply involved with M, or Man. W adores John even though he can’t stand women. ‘They’re like water when you really want beer,’ he says, charmlessly. When they have sex she politely asks him not to treat her genitals ‘like a Travelodge’. After a brief fling, W decides she wants to marry John and raise a family with him in domestic bliss. But John isn’t so sure. He describes his girlfriend to others as ‘tall, manly and with big hands’.

Keith Allen discusses Pinter, Max Bygraves and the sensitivities of contemporary audiences

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Keith Allen was cast in his latest show by Lady Antonia Fraser. He explains this odd circumstance when we meet during a break in rehearsals for Pinter’s The Homecoming. ‘I was asked if I wanted to do The Caretaker at the Theatre Royal Bath. And I said, “Yeah, I’d love to.” Then I had a conversation with Antonia Fraser who told me the script was licensed to someone else. She said, “Why not do The Homecoming instead – with you as Max?” And I said, “Yes.”’ Max is the thuggish head of an emotionally damaged Cockney family with criminal connections. His wife has died and he lives with his sons in a household that simmers with pent-up aggression. The plot is a quest to replace the dead mother with a powerful female figure.

We will never hear the end of Rishi’s tax cut

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The bean-counters squared up in the Commons today. Chancellor Rishi Sunak delivered a terse spring statement which contained three major bombshells. And he was answered by Labour’s shadow chancellor, Rachel Reeves, who unfurled a few surprises of her own. Sunak gave an upbeat assessment of Britain’s economy but warned that our growth is about to be clobbered by Putin’s Ukraine adventure. Sunak expects inflation to peak at 7 per cent, or more. That’s effectively a huge pay-cut for every citizen, not just those in work, and it may nudge us closer to a recession. But he kept the R-word to himself. Sunak seems to enjoy being liked and he was in a hurry to get the depressing stuff out of the way.

A must-see for Westminster obsessives: Riverside Studios’ Bloody Difficult Women reviewed

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Bloody Difficult Women is a documentary drama by the popular journalist Tim Walker, which looks at the similarities between Gina Miller and Theresa May. It’s well known that Walker detests our current prime minister and he refuses even to allow the Johnson name to sully his script. So although Boris was a key player in the story, he doesn’t appear on stage. Nor does May’s husband, Philip. And her influential advisers, Nick Timothy and Fiona Hill, are omitted too. Their names are mentioned constantly but we never meet them as characters. Slightly frustrating. May herself comes across as weak, secretive and limited. Plainly she was never suited to high office.

Is Boris a Russian agent?

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Is Boris a Russian agent? That bizarre question occupied most of PMQs where Dominic Raab deputised for the PM while he travels abroad. The issue was raised by Angela Rayner, standing in for Keir Starmer. She said Boris’s friend, Evgeny Lebedev, had been granted a peerage despite warnings from the security services. ‘What she suggests is nonsense,’ said Raab. She brought up a 2020 meeting between Lebedev, ‘the son of a KGB officer’, and Boris in London. ‘Details of that meeting have never been released,’ she said, as if this were proof of a massive cover-up. Oddly, she then listed the details that she claimed had been suppressed. ‘Champagne and caviar’ were on the menu, she revealed. How did she know? Wasn’t it all hushed up?

Stands alongside Under Milk Wood: Shedding a Skin, at Soho Theatre, reviewed

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Shedding a Skin opens with an office nightmare. Myah is a mixed-race employee in a predominantly white firm who gets summoned to the boss’s room for a group photo. The only other workers present are black and they greet each other with the ‘black nod’ as she calls it. And the group includes a black cleaner dressed in a suit to ‘bump up the numbers’. She tells the boss that this attempt to promote racial harmony simply instils mistrust and division but she gets sacked for rebelling against the firm’s ‘fakery’. Next, her layabout boyfriend, a musician who lives on a barge, gives her the elbow. Now she’s homeless, jobless and single. A great start.

The SNP won’t be happy until Boris is charged with war crimes

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Blood streams through Ukraine. Tears run through parliament. At PMQs today, numerous members urged Boris to show more compassion towards Ukraine’s refugees. Poland has already taken 1.2 million. Barely a thousand have been received here, as Boris confirmed, but the number will rise sharply. Leading the pro-refugee campaign was the SNP’s Ian Blackford who seems to represent every region on earth apart from his own constituency. In a venomous speech he charged the home secretary, Priti Patel, with imposing a ‘hostile environment’ on refugees for ‘ideological’ reasons. Well, well. No one could accuse the SNP of embracing xenophobia for political gain. Blackford lambasted the government for ‘putting up barriers and bureaucracy’.

Zelensky’s address was strange, but sensational

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This afternoon, the Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky addressed the House of Commons. A single flat-screen TV broadcast his speech to a packed chamber. Zelensky appeared in plain green fatigues next to Ukraine’s blue-and-yellow flag. He looked pale, tired, fearless and determined. Squads of foreign killers are roaming his homeland trying to find him. His words were spoken in English by a translator who probably had no advance sight of the text. The halting, ungrammatical phrases made the address strangely powerful. ‘I would like to tell you about the 13 days of war. The war that we did not start.’ Zelensky’s goal is simple. ‘We do not want to lose what is ours.

Paul Bettany’s Warhol is a tour de force: The Collaboration, at the Young Vic, reviewed

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The Collaboration is set in the 1980s when Andy Warhol teamed up with the painter Jean-Michel Basquiat to create bad art and flog it to idiots. The play unfolds like a documentary and we meet the real-life Warhol. In interviews he rarely said more than ‘yeah’, or ‘cool’, and he explains that this taciturn style was a defence mechanism developed in his youth to protect him from homophobic bullies who found his camp voice offensive. He comes across as a true original, a brilliantly witty charlatan, a philosopher in a minor key. ‘Where does time go?’ he asks. ‘And why does it keep going there?’ He predicts that within a few decades (i.e.

Boris is back

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Boris looks quite the statesman as he deals with the Ukraine crisis. MPs have spotted this and they want to join in. At PMQs the chamber was a-flutter with the colours of Ukraine. Female MPs sported blue skirts and gold blouses. One wore a pair of bright yellow tights from M&S’s ‘Je Suis Kiev’ range. Nearly every MP had a Ukrainian badge pinned to their lapels. And Boris himself showcased the fashionable two-tone style: blonde hair and blue eyes, plus a tie in the same azure hue. A walking Ukrainian flag leads our country.  Before questions began, the Commons rose as one and saluted Ukraine’s ambassador who was in the public gallery. The house was grateful not just for his presence but for his decision not to make a speech.

Rishi Sunak is no Gordon Brown

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How at home Rishi Sunak looks in the company of academics. The chancellor delivered the 34th Mais Lecture this afternoon at the Bayes Business School in east London. Standing at the lectern in his dapper blue suit, he had the air of a cerebral super-monk bred on figs and yogurt. He’s the first British chancellor to hold an MBA from Stanford and he seemed perfectly at ease in this warm, well-lit room full of brain-boxes with double-firsts in economics. He speaks their jargon fluently. Instead of a ‘job’ he talks about ‘an employment outcome ’. His term for a ‘career’ is ‘a fulfilling professional experience.’ And when he refers to education he says, ‘upskilling’ or ‘support for learning.

A beautiful, frustrating bore: Florian Zeller’s The Forest, at Hampstead Theatre, reviewed

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The Forest is the latest thriller from the French dramatist Florian Zeller, translated by Oscar winner Christopher Hampton. It’s a well-worn yarn of adultery, betrayal and vengeance set among the yuppie classes. The action is located in France but the actors speak in Home Counties accents. (In theory, at least. Some are better at imitating BBC newsreaders than others.) Zeller makes his story deliberately arty and obscure. Man 1, also known as Pierre, is a wealthy doctor whose wife, or ‘The Wife’, is played by Gina McKee. Pierre has a hysterical girlfriend, known as ‘The Girlfriend’, who threatens to reveal their affair and destroy Pierre’s marriage. The Girlfriend dies bloodily in their love nest. But was this suicide?

Alex Salmond reigned supreme at PMQs

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Remember Alex Salmond? The former SNP leader is back. Since 2017 his little-known programme, The Alex Salmond Show, has aired weekly on RT which receives its funding from the Kremlin. Today at PMQs the party leaders combined to plug Salmond’s programme and to boost his ratings. It wasn’t a debate. It was a 30-minute Salmond advert. Sir Keir Starmer began by suggesting that RT’s licence should be revoked. ‘I see no reason why it should continue to broadcast.’ Boris replied that Ofcom and not politicians should make that decision. But he added that he believes in ‘free speech’. In other words, he opposes a ban on RT. A political choice, obviously. And Ofcom will have heard the PM loud and clear.

All a bit Blackadder: Hamlet, at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, reviewed

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Never Not Once has a cold and forbidding title but it starts as an amusing tale set in an LA apartment. We meet Allison, a happily married lesbian, whose grown-up daughter, Eleanor, arrives with a hunky new boyfriend to show off. This set-up has the makings of a flatshare sitcom. You combine a straight younger couple with an older pair of lesbians and you throw in the mother/daughter relationship for extra instability. It could be a laugh. But a new wrinkle appears. Eleanor learns that she was conceived during a one-night stand and she decides to track down her absentee father. But he’s extremely reluctant to discuss what happened that evening. Too much booze, he shrugs, and the major details escape him. Flora disagrees with this version. Eleanor’s father raped her, she claims.

A tangle of nonsense from the sloppy Caryl Churchill: A Number, at the Old Vic, reviewed

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A Number, by Caryl Churchill, is a sci-fi drama of impenetrable complexity. It’s set in a future society where cloning has become possible for those on modest incomes. A Cockney father reveals to his grown-up son that he’s a replica of his older brother who died, aged four, in a car crash that also killed his mum. The son reacts with anger and bafflement. But Dad soothes him with happy news. The boy’s DNA was stolen by a gang of scientists who created 20 more copycat zombies, and these replicas are now scattered across the globe. Dad plans to cash in by suing the boffins for £5 million. No sooner has Dad finished this yarn than he admits it’s untrue. The mother didn’t die in a car crash and the timeline he gave was incorrect.

PMQs: Boris looks chipper for a man on the brink

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And still they try. MPs are desperate to get the Prime Minister to quit, live on TV, during PMQs. As if that’s about to happen. Sir Starmer has spent the last week polishing his puns. The busy wordsmith has spotted that the verb ‘scrap’ may mean ‘fight’ as well as ‘abolish’. Inspired by this linguistic accident he asked the PM to stop ‘scrapping’ with his Chancellor and get on with ‘scrapping’ his new emergency energy package. Brilliant! What a barb! How Suzie Dent must have marvelled at Professor Starmer’s verbal dexterity.  But as the applause from Dictionary Corner died away, it became clear that puns count for nothing in the bear-pit of politics.

Is this the worst production of all time? Royal Court’s The Glow reviewed

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It’s getting silly now. London’s subsidised theatres aren’t just competing to put on the worst play of the year but to create the worst production of all time. The Young Vic’s new effort, Conundrum, is an impenetrable rant which even the Guardian criticised. The Royal Court enters the fray with Alistair McDowall’s The Glow, directed by Vicky Featherstone. Act One is a flatshare sitcom set in the 19th century and features a pompous spiritualist, Mrs Lyall, who forces her chippy son, Mason, to live with a lunatic called Sadie. Mrs Lyall purchased Sadie from an asylum and together they conjure up a host of ancient spirits including an angry Jesus figure who has a sword and an Irish accent.

Starmer knows that Boris is safe – for now

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Calm returned to the bridge. Big Dog looked comfortable in the chamber as Sir Keir Starmer quizzed him at PMQs. It started with an exchange of fireworks. Sir Keir made a statement about Boris’s suggestion that he failed to bring Jimmy Savile to justice when he was director of public prosecutions. He called this slur ‘a conspiracy theory of violent fascists’. Strong stuff.  In reply, Boris quoted Sir Keir’s statement in 2013 which appeared to apologise for oversights in relation to Savile. However – and this is the point – Sir Keir didn’t follow it up. The mortal blow has failed to land as yet. More delays will play into Boris’s hands. The longer Plod takes to issue any fines, the more trivial the law-breaking will seem.

Borderline soft porn but thrilling: Moulin Rouge! The Musical at Piccadilly Theatre reviewed

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Moulin Rouge wins no marks for its storyline. A struggling Parisian theatre is bought out by an evil financier who wants to marry the venue’s star, Satine, whose heart belongs elsewhere. The show opens like a pantomime with a bantering style and cheesy jokes. And there are passages of physical comedy that look weird amid the glamour of fin-de-siècle Paris. But the slapstick is crisply acted and well directed. And the comic scenes are balanced by full-throttle dance routines played by strutting hunks and twerking lovelies in black fishnet stockings. Every bodice is wound tight enough to ping open at any second. It’s borderline soft-porn but it’s delivered with thrilling doses of self-confidence and brio.

Lindsay Hoyle is turning into John Bercow

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Sir Keir Starmer has a weakness, and the Tories have spotted it. His weakness is Sir Lindsay Hoyle. The Speaker likes to interrupt PMQs when noise in the chamber exceeds a threshold known only to him. During Sir Keir’s cross-examination of Boris today, he broke in three times to deliver pompous mini-sermons that might have been scripted by John Bercow. ‘Our constituents are very interested to hear this,’ said Hoyle, having told Sir Keir to sit down. The rowdies were ordered to ‘please leave quietly’. No one left. That should have told him that a game was afoot. He himself pointed out that the shouts and jibes originate from the benches behind Boris, and it's obvious that gangs of naughty Tories are indulging in tactical sabotage on Wednesday afternoons.