Lloyd Evans

Lloyd Evans

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

Rishi Sunak is no Gordon Brown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Suchet makes Poirot sound like craft beer: Poirot and More, at Harold Pinter Theatre, reviewed

Producers are getting jittery again. Large-scale shows look risky when a single infection can postpone an entire show. Hence Poirot and More in the West End. This is a conversation piece in which David Suchet talks about his career as Agatha Christie’s most celebrated nosy parker. Not much technical rehearsal is needed and Suchet relies on the support of a single performer, Geoffrey Wansell, who feeds him easy-peasy questions. Scrapping the production would hardly cost the earth. The pair are old friends but they seem to be at war in the costume department. Suchet looks like a Blair clone in a dark blue blazer and a white, open-necked shirt. Wansell’s richer plumage stretches to a spotted bow tie and a pair of pink-rimmed John Birt spectacles.

PMQs: Pantomime Starmer wasted his chance

Does Boris lie? Well, yes, of course, he’s a politician. That’s the standard response to the honesty question. And in some circumstances, we forgive MPs for telling whoppers. Christian Wakeford, elected as a Tory for Bury South, has just joined the Labour party and effectively admitted that he told a pack of lies to voters at the 2019 election. Yet Sir Keir Starmer welcomed this proven swindler to the opposition and boasted about his defection at PMQs. Labour crowed with pleasure. Boris tried to silence them by predicting that Bury South would return to the Tories at the next election, ‘under this Prime Minister.’ Hear that? Boris won’t quit. The speaker, incidentally, has tested positive for John Bercow.

One of the best nights of my life: Hampstead Theatre’s Peggy For You reviewed

Hampstead Theatre has revived a play about Peggy Ramsay, the legendary West End agent who shaped the careers of Joe Orton, Robert Bolt, David Hare and others. We first meet her on the phone to a dramatist whose new script is good but, warns Peggy, it must not be produced because it will damage his career. She hates ‘fine writing’ and she knows how easily a scribbler can be corrupted by praise, awards and cash. Peggy is one of those rare creatures whom everyone wants to please and whose faults are considered charming oddities. Some might find her maddeningly fey but this show, directed by Richard Wilson, is part of the fan club. She has clients scattered across Yorkshire and she assumes that they must be next-door neighbours.

Why Boris might still survive

Haunted. Ashen. Defeated. That’s how the PM looked in parliament this afternoon as he faced the flamethrowers of the opposition. He began with a long apology about the May 2020 party in Downing Street which he said he had attended. And he openly acknowledged the ‘rage’ of the British public. His excuse – embarrassingly flimsy – was that he’d misunderstood the character of the get-together. And he was forced to adopt the lawyerly terms he so decries in others when he referred to the party as ‘the event in question’. So what was it? A wine-tasting? A discreet sherry at sundown? Or a major session with dancing on the tables? That judgment will be made by Sue Gray, a Cabinet Office official appointed to investigate.

Artless, crude and thuggish: Bridge Theatre’s Book of Dust reviewed

Philip Pullman’s The Book of Dust has been adapted at the Bridge. The yarn is set in Oxford, and the surrounding countryside, and the whole of the first act is devoted to exposition because Pullman’s fantasy world is impenetrably complicated. The chief character, a dim-witted child, wanders around the place and listens while terms like ‘magisterium’, ‘alethiometer’ and ‘daemon’ are explained to him. Meanwhile we’re introduced to Pullman’s range of human personalities. He can do two: first, the ooh-arr yokel who is thick but kind, and secondly, the posh academic who is clever but evil. These archetypes give rise to a total of 32 characters who are represented by 16 actors. A lot of simplification was needed here.

What does Angela really make of Boris?

Poor Sir Keir Starmer. He’s having a bad pandemic. The Labour leader was absent again at PMQs. His gifted and charismatic deputy, Angela Rayner, got another chance to display her credentials as his replacement. Rayner, with her necklace of white beads, looked like a duchess launching a battleship. She and Boris flirted constantly, which may not be a good thing. Teasingly he said he knew that she coveted Sir Keir’s job. ‘And I wish her well.’ When she got up she leaned so far across the despatch box that she seemed ready to clamber over it When she got up she leaned so far across the despatch box that she seemed ready to clamber over it and jump in his lap. He giggled and smirked back, visibly thrilled by her vitality.

Jacinda Ardern to Alastair Campbell: My 2021 ‘naughty list’

Merry Christmas – but not for those who have earned a place on my naughty list. From Jacinda Ardern to Carrie's critics, here’s a catalogue of all those who must do better in 2022: Ant and Dec. Nope. Still don’t know which is which. Each needs to follow normal practice and use a Christian name/surname combination that eliminates all confusion, e.g, Brian Cox.Nigel Farage’s broadcast career. His GB News show is popular but it’s a waste of his unique power, namely the ability to inflict near-fatal damage on an institution from within. Give him a peerage. Jacinda Ardern. The toothsome fear-monger seems hellbent on turning her country into a control-freak state. Fake Christmas trees. Enjoy your imported conifer while you can.

What happens to Afghan migrants when they reach the UK?

Migrants continue to cross the Channel and to reach Britain by other means. But what happens once they arrive? The answer for many is a new life of boredom and endless waiting. Dotted around the south coast are hotels where these people are housed, hidden out of sight. I went to meet some of them. A dozen Afghan families have ended up at a hotel three miles from Canterbury. The new arrivals numbered about 35 in all, including children, and the hotel seemed delighted to welcome them. ‘We are proud,’ said a poster in the lobby, ‘to be part of the programme to resettle the Afghan community in the UK.’ I got chatting to the men by offering free cigarettes in a porch outside the lobby.

Clive Rowe is astonishing: Hackney Empire’s Jack and the Beanstalk reviewed

Jack and the Beanstalk is a big, sprawling family show that opens with a baffling gesture. A booming voiceover announces that Hackney is being menaced by some unseen threat. Enter an evil monster, Funella Fleshcreep, who wears facial moisturiser made from liquefied avocado. This green-cheeked ogre is challenged by the virtuous characters, Jack Trot and Simple Simon, who must defeat her and deliver Hackney from danger. The show starts to finds its way once Clive Rowe appears as the dairymaid, Dame Trot, who needs to milk a dysfunctional, dried-up cow. There are few performers in Britain who are as versatile as Rowe. He can do broad slapstick as well as stand-up comedy. He can descend into the stalls and weave a spot of improvisational magic with a crowd of strangers.

Unbowed Boris has put his Tory rivals in their places

Boris was resurgent at PMQs today. He sprinkled scorn, merriment and mischief in all directions. He even boasted that last night’s Plan B crackdown was a Tory triumph that had not been won with Labour votes. Sir Keir Starmer (who also had a good day) clasped at his hair in incredulity. ‘He’s so far socially distanced from the truth that he actually believes that,’ scoffed the Labour leader. Boris is surrounded by cabinet plotters who are not without their qualities. Liz Truss has nice hair. Rishi Sunak looks like the perfect son-in-law. Priti Patel’s mean streak may win her a few votes.