Lloyd Evans

Lloyd Evans

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

PMQs sketch: Miliband packs a punch, and Cameron punches back

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Whooo that was nasty. Today’s was the most vicious PMQs of the last twelve months. Easily. Ed Miliband started by quoting the case of a Londoner called ‘John’ who was concerned about living standards. ‘John’, however, wasn’t a disabled pensioner but a City fat cat concerned that next year’s bonus might be capped at two million pounds. ‘What’s the prime minister going to do to help him?’ Nifty tactics from Miliband’s team. Cameron might have floundered here but his reply matched the full force of Miliband’s attack. His government, he declared, had cut bonuses to a quarter of what they’d been under Labour. ‘And we aren’t going to listen to the croupiers who were in the casino when it all went bust.

Losing the plot | 28 February 2013

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Who got the most out of the credit crunch? Security guards, repossession firms, bailed-out banks and, of course, playwrights. Anders Lustgarten is the latest to cash in on five years of global misery with If You Don’t Let Us Dream, We Won’t Let You Sleep. The play, like the title, is effortful, disjointed and cumbersome. In the first half, a gang of fatcat bankers sets up a new financial instrument, Unity Bonds, which will generate profits from socially useful behaviour. This intriguing idea is sidelined in the second half. The action moves to a squatter camp where the banking system is about to be put on trial. Lustgarten assumes, no doubt correctly, that the audience is more in sympathy with anti-capitalists than with high finance.

PMQs sketch: Miliband has ‘one of those days’

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What a strange PMQs. The house seemed half empty. The tug of elsewhere dominated proceedings. Richard Drax asked the prime minister if ‘prospective members of parliament’ should ever speak in support of terrorism.  David Cameron took this cue to rebuke John O’Farrell. Labour’s candidate at Eastleigh has admitted to feeling ‘a surge of excitement’ when he learned that the IRA had nearly assassinated Mrs Thatcher in the Brighton bomb. Cameron asked Ed Miliband to condemn his candidate. Miliband refused. ‘If he wants me to answer questions I’ll swap places any time.’ Miliband’s aim today was to turn the triple-A downgrade into a government-breaking issue. It didn’t work.

Sheer torture

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Ever been to a ‘promenade performance’? Barmy, really. The audience is conducted through a makeshift theatre space — often a disused ironworks — where the show is performed in disjointed snatches amid atmospheric clutter. Invariably hopeless as drama, promenade shows can be revealing as social anthropology. They lay bare a secret that lies at the heart of theatrical life: actors loathe play-goers. Without a paying audience, all theatre is simply am-dram. And actors have a morbid fear of slipping into the underclass of voluntary performance. So they covertly resent ticket-buying audiences who alone have the power to convert an unpaid show-off into a self-regarding thesp, with his agent and his Spotlight listing and his drink problem.

15 February 2003: What Do They Want? Victory for Saddam

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Ten years ago today, Lloyd Evans joined the anti-Iraq war march in London. Evans had an open mind about the war, until he joined the peace movement and met Bianca Jagger. Here is the piece in full from our archive. I'm bursting with excitement. I can hardly get the words down fast enough. There was an amazing occurrence in Hackney last week at a meeting of the Stop the War coalition. I swear this happened. A protester said something perceptive. You don't believe me? No, really, I was there. He was an old guy with white hair and a lovely crinkly face. 'The bigger the march,' he said ruefully. 'The bigger the insult when they ignore us.' I almost fell off my chair in astonishment. Nobody at the meeting disagreed. No one suggested a change of tactics. And none of that surprised me at all.

Fatal flaw | 14 February 2013

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A new play about the banking crisis at the Bush. Writer, Clare Duffy, has spent a year or two badgering financiers and economists with questions about ‘the fundamentals’. ‘What is the value of money?’ she asks. ‘What do we want and need money to be?’ Her play has lots of zing and energy, and opens as a TV game show. The audience is divided into teams and individuals are hauled out of their seats and asked to engage in sporting contests with a big stash of 10,000 pound coins that gleam in coppery piles on the stage. Then the show becomes a drama. We’re in 2007. Two bankers, Queenie and Casino, hatch a scheme to short the American housing market. A tiny investment of £5 million will net billions, should the bubble go pop.

PMQs sketch: In which Cameron both chooses and answers the questions.

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Whoosh! Crasshh! Ploophm! Crummppp! The personal attacks came pounding in on David Cameron today. Ed Miliband asked about declining living standards and set about portraying the prime minister as an out-of-touch toff surrounded by plutocratic parasites. He cited the recent Tory Winter Ball where a signed mug-shot of Mr Cameron had been auctioned for the Warhol-esque sum of £100,000. ‘Then the prime minister declared, without a hint of irony, that the Tories are no longer the party of privilege.’ Cameron ignored the issue of living standards and told Miliband he’d raised the wrong topic. ‘If his question is – have you had to take difficult decisions to deal with the deficit, reform welfare and clean up the banks? Then yes, you bet.’ Interesting.

English eccentrics

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Quartermaine’s Terms is a period piece within a period piece. It’s set in that part of the early 1960s which was still effectively the 1950s. St John Quartermaine, a shy bumbler, is the oldest and most useless teacher at a Cambridge language school. All his colleagues are lovable freaks. There’s the Jesus-worshipping spinster shackled to her ailing mum. There’s the caravanning dad who takes calamitous holidays in rain-swept Norfolk. There’s the wannabe novelist ditched by his wife while writing a particularly heartfelt chapter about marital bliss. And there’s the boss, a fogeyish queen, who has no idea the school is heading for the buffers.

PMQs sketch: Ed Miliband vs David Cameron on the ‘bedroom tax’

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It was cynical. It was shameless. It was low-down politics in every way. But Miliband’s stunt at PMQs very nearly worked. His theme was the reform of housing benefit that will affect those in homes with unoccupied bedrooms. Ed Miliband calls this ‘a bedroom tax’. He kicked off by asking David Cameron about the case of ‘Alison’ who has twin sons serving in the army. While her boys are fighting abroad, Alison will be charged £25 extra per week for their bedrooms. It’s wrong to call this a tax, said Cameron, it’s a necessary change to an unaffordable system. Miliband was waiting for him. ‘I’d like to see him explaining to Alison why her paying £25 more a week is not a tax.

Women only

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A triple thick dose of chicklit at Hampstead. Amelia Bullmore’s good-natured comedy has three girls sharing a student house in 1983. Those were the days. Back then we received ‘grants’ to attend university, i.e., we were paid to look occupied, like job-seekers and politicians. I’m glad to report that Bullmore accurately evokes the culture and language of the time. Just a couple of blunders. We didn’t say ‘PJs’ to mean pyjamas. And ‘what is she like?’, to express affectionate exasperation, didn’t arrive till the 1990s. The girls don’t smoke, nor do they mention Greenham, which is odd, but the play wishes to focus on their emotional and professional development.

PMQs sketch: Dave prepares the Fortnums hamper for his food bank visit

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It was the croc that didn’t snap, the firework that failed to fly, the jeroboam that refused to go pop. Last week, David Cameron’s speech on Europe was supposed to heal a two-decade rift within the Tory family and to set Britain on a bold new course in our relationship with the continent. A week later and the great In-Out gamble didn’t rate a mention at PMQs. Not a peep. Not a syllable. Not a whisper. Ed Miliband didn’t bring it up either. Their mutual silence isn’t hard to explain. Both parties are acting tough but remain vulnerable on the referendum question. Cameron will accuse Miliband of not trusting the voters. Miliband will accuse Cameron’s MPs of not trusting Cameron. Hence the non-aggression pact.

Obsessed with Pinter

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It’s the size of a Hackney bedsit but the ambience is cosily expensive. Sonia Friedman’s tiny office above the Duke of York’s Theatre in St Martin’s Lane has warm, pinkish lighting and elegant armchairs with thick, deep cushions. The dark wallpaper is obscured by framed posters of hit West End shows. Sprawled across the sofa there’s a touch of pure kitsch: a six-year-old poodle, snuffling and dozing, whose fluffy white forelegs are sheathed in the armlets of a scarlet tank top. His name is Teddy and he looks like the victim of a stag-night prank contentedly sleeping off his hangover. Opposite me sits Sonia Friedman — pretty, blonde, in her mid-40s — who occupies a formidable position as one of the West End’s leading producers.

Seeing the light | 24 January 2013

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Meet Fenton. He’s a psycho. A year or so back he was banged up for murdering a preppy teenage girl in one of America’s less-enlightened southern states. Enter a campaigning congressman, John Daniels, who hopes to teach Fenton to read and write and to help him make something of his ruined life. The opening of Richard Vergette’s play is intriguing enough but a savage twist is on its way. Fenton rejects all the congressman’s overtures. Asked to recite the alphabet, he glares and grunts and spits out monosyllabic expletives. The only expressive medium for which he shows any talent is the flinging of furniture at high speed across the interrogation room.

PMQs sketch: David Cameron, saviour of Europe

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David Cameron’s entrance to the Commons at noon was cheered so ecstatically by his backbenchers that broadcasters decided to run the footage again, straight after PMQs. The Tory cheers redoubled when Ed Miliband rose to quiz the PM. Miliband, however, had discovered a flaw in the prime minister’s position. He probed him on his voting intentions in the European referendum. This should have been clear and simple. It was anything but. ‘Can he guarantee that he will vote Yes?’ said Miliband ‘Yes,’ said Cameron. And he immediately added, ‘I want Britain to be part of a reformed EU.’ So the answer slithered out into a single gloopy sound-bite. ‘Yes-I-want-Britain-to-be-part-of-a-reformed-EU.’ Very clever. And pretty devious.

Sketch: Cameron’s EU climax

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This was no tantric anti-climax. This was a seismic moment in British politics. David Cameron breezed into a London press conference this morning and proceeded to reshape Europe. The wooden lectern he stood at was pale and municipal. He wore a dark suit and a nice purple tie, and his affable pink chops glowed with moderation and good sense. He looked like a council negotiator arriving to settle a hedge dispute between warring neighbours. The Euro-crisis will lead to the restructuring of Europe, he said. He called for a new design that would incorporate more openness, flexibility and competitiveness. And the single market, not the single currency, should lie at its heart.

Sketch: Obama’s inauguration

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It was like Narnia at today’s inauguration. Half a million Obama fans gathered in Washington to shiver as their leader was sworn in for the second time. (Or the fourth, if you count the fluffed effort in 2009, which had to be repeated later, and the mandatory ceremony conducted yesterday in a nicely heated indoor room.) Up on the raised platform, the hoary faces of former presidents exchanged smiles and handshakes. A stooge from Congress toddled out and addressed the crowd in sombre, prayerful mood. Then he changed gear and introduced cult folk legend, James Taylor, hailing him as ‘a renowned musical artist.’ This was a polite way of acknowledging that Taylor has successfully evaded the overdose scourge that culled most of his hippy contemporaries.

Curiouser and curiouser | 17 January 2013

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A tragicomic curiosity at the Finborough written by Hebridean exile Iain Finlay Macleod. The show opens with James, a young Gaelic-speaker, running an internet start-up in London. Business booms. He grows rich and marries his gorgeous university squeeze. The only snag in his life, and it’s quite a serious one, is that he suffers from a constant urge to turn a somersault whenever something remarkable happens. Bust-up with the wife. Somersault! Best mate arrives from college. Somersault! Business goes broke. Somersault! Dad contracts cancer. Somersault! Short of cash and plunged into despair, James is visited by a creepy bailiff who engages him in obliquely amiable conversation while bagging up his collection of LPs.

PMQs sketch: Cameron and Miliband’s merry slanders

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It was written in the faces at PMQs today. Ed Miliband seemed relaxed and happy as he exploited Tory splits ahead of Cameron’s Euro-address on Friday. The PM looked irritable and resigned, like a long-distance hiker whose brand new Timberlands have started chafing just a few yards from his starting point. His conundrum is simple. Until he recommends carpet-bombing Brussels he’ll never placate the Euro-bashers. And his hope for renegotiation, even at its most conciliatory, will only inflame their escapological instincts. Miliband asked if Britain would still be an EU member in five years’ time. Cameron kept his crystal ball hidden. ‘The UK is better off in Europe,’ he said.

Sketch: Gordon Brown resurfaces

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Gordon Brown lumbered back into parliament this evening to speak in an adjournment debate at 7.10 pm. Even before dinner he managed to look both over-fed and a bit exhausted. His thick dark hair has grown greyer and longer than when we last saw him barrelling out of Downing Street, in May 2010, having just blown the economy and the election. He entered the chamber unaccompanied. When the speaker called him, he stood up in a little pool of empty space. Perhaps fellow MPs feared being sucked into the red dwarf of his extinct career. As he spoke, his mood seemed chastened. His rhetoric was noticeably muted and unshowy. But his pomposity remains undimmed. ‘I rise on behalf of myself,’ was his opening phrase.

Decline and fall | 10 January 2013

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Filmic structures are always tricky on stage. David Mamet, an exception, can get away with writing long chains of scenes that last a couple of minutes each. But the theatre prefers to relax, to snuggle down, to linger slowly over every morsel of a many-layered spread. Encountering a screenplay on stage is like receiving a box of Milk Tray in a restaurant and being told it’s a 32-course meal. David Gooderson’s made-for-TV script concerns an Edwardian sex scandal featuring teenage boys and lauded grandees. Sir Hector MacDonald (aka Fighting Mac) was a crofter’s son who enlisted as an infantryman and reached the rank of major-general during a 20-year career. To rise so high without a private income was pretty rare in Britain’s gentry-loving military.