Lloyd Evans

Lloyd Evans

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

Kemi Badenoch is bad at PMQs

Flunked it again, unfortunately. Kemi Badenoch chose poor tactics at PMQs. She made flabby speeches instead of hitting the PM with short, sharp questions.  She led on immigration – one of the Tories’ weakest topics. Sir Keir Starmer immediately mentioned the ‘open border’ policies that allowed nearly a million migrants to arrive in a single year. Kemi got specific. She said Sir Keir had opposed deportations for foreign-born criminals. One of these convicts went on to commit homicide. ‘He was able to stay here and murder because people like this man campaigned against deporting criminals. Will he apologise for signing these letters?’ A tough question but Sir Keir pulled off a sneaky shimmy. He blamed the Tories.

This Muslim playwright believes Yorkshire is headed for civil war

Expendable, at the Royal Court, is an urgent bulletin from the front line of the grooming gang scandal in the north of England. The setting is a kitchen in Yorkshire where Zara is trying to keep her family together after her son, Raheel, was outed as a rape suspect by a national newspaper. White thugs dump parcels of excrement on their porch and Zara cowers under the kitchen table, too scared to answer the door. The racists have mounted a mass demonstration, supported by the cops, which causes local bus services to be cancelled. Every Muslim in town is terrified of a white vigilante gang who recently targeted a blameless Yemeni pensioner and kicked him to death. It gets worse.

Kemi let Starmer off the hook again

Labour thinks it can win on immigration. Their new strategy was road-tested today at PMQs as backbencher Olivia Bailey opened the session saluting Keir Starmer’s gang-busting policies. ‘Internationalist co-operation, shared intelligence and joint law enforcement,’ said Bailey, ‘are the best way to end the vile people-smuggling trade.’   Starmer rose to agree with his stooge. ‘The broken immigration system’ of the Tories is being fixed, he said, and 9,400 people ‘who have no right to be here’ are being rounded up and sent packing. ‘We got the flights off the ground,’ he boasted. This blew Kemi Badenoch off course. She wanted to talk about Louise Haigh, the ex-transport minister.

Wonderful comedy of manners: Kiln Theatre’s The Purists reviewed

A slice of the ghetto arrives at the Kiln Theatre in Kilburn. The Purists is set on the stoop of a crumbling block in Queens, New York, and the show declares its urban credentials as a boombox slams out a hip-hop rhythm and Mr Bugz, a DJ, enters, mike in hand. He urges the audience to commit arson and murder using a chant inspired by the theatre’s location. ‘Kill! Burn!’ he screams. ‘Kill! Burn!’ He invites the crowd to join in his riotous incantation. ‘Kill! Burn!’ they shout back with blood-curdling obedience. After this homicidal overture, the play settles down and turns into a surprisingly genteel comedy of manners. Mr Bugz makes friends with an Anglophile neighbour, Gerry Brinsler, who adores musical theatre and has a soft spot for her late Majesty.

Kemi Badenoch must get better at PMQs

Third time lucky for Kemi Badenoch. The Tory leader’s first two attempts to crush Keir Starmer at PMQs failed. Today she began by attacking the chancellor whose career is in quicksand and who admitted to the CBI that her smash-and-grab budget was so destructive that it mustn’t be repeated. ‘I’m not coming back for more borrowing or more taxes,’ said Rachel Reeves on Monday. Kemi asked Starmer to repeat that pledge in the house. Not a bad question. Starmer said he couldn’t write ‘five years of future budgets’ at the despatch box. Not a bad answer. Kemi’s team should have seen it coming. She boasted that Starmer had made an embarrassing admission by failing to endorse Reeves’s pledge. Well, sort of.

The uncomfortable truth about boozing

‘Good for you. Amazing. I should do the same.’ ‘You must feel great. Lucky you.’ This is what I hear when I tell people I haven’t touched alcohol for a year or more. Behind their bland words, I detect an air of pity and bafflement, even a hint of contempt. I know what they’re thinking because I used to feel the same way. The teetotaller hasn’t escaped a disease, but contracted one. Perhaps they’re right and the ill-effects of alcohol are wildly exaggerated. Plenty of all-day boozers lived to a ripe old age. Winston Churchill, Frank Sinatra, Elizabeth Taylor, Robert Mitchum, Joan Crawford. Then there are the rock stars in their eighties who drink Jack Daniel’s for breakfast with no problems.

Angela Rayner has lost her edge

It was deputies’ day at PMQs. Sir Keir Starmer is busy flying around the world yet again. This time he’s trying to charm the unlucky leaders of the G20. Angela Rayner took his place at PMQs opposite Alex Burghart for the Tories. His opener was terse and effective.  ‘What is the government doing to bring down inflation?’  Rayner was prepared. She reminded him that he was the ‘growth minister’ under Liz Truss when inflation soared to 11 per cent. Fair point. Burghart quoted the Office for Budget Responsibility’s forecast that Rachel Reeve’s smash-and-grab budget will lift inflation to three per cent. Rayner drawled out an identical reply and suggested that three percent is preferable to 11 per cent.

Heart-warming but safe biographical drama: Going for Gold, at Park90, reviewed

Going for Gold is a biographical drama about a forgotten star of the 1970s. Frankie Lucas was a middleweight boxing champion, born on the Caribbean island of St Vincent, who won a gold medal at the Commonwealth Games in 1972. Although he lived in London he wasn’t picked for the England team and instead he wore the colours of his native land. He did them proud. Frankie Lucas seems to have spent 42 years sitting in a council flat, smoking weed and sulking The script, by Lisa Lintott, emphasises Lucas’s virtues and downplays his rackety personal life and his habit of smoking bales of cannabis on a regular basis.

Why the farmers’ protest probably won’t work

Cold drizzle falling on tweed. That was the abiding image of today’s protest in Westminster which filled Whitehall with tens of thousands of indignant farmers. Just two tractors were admitted. One was parked outside Downing Street and the other stood by the women’s war memorial. Groups of farmers clambered onto the metal flanks and took snaps of themselves. Many held home-made placards denouncing ‘farmer harmer’ Starmer and ‘Rachel Thieves’, the chancellor. Some of the more paranoid demonstrators saw Labour as a historic threat to the working class. Everyone seemed obdurately upbeat despite the freezing rain ‘First the miners, then the farmers, next it’s you.’ The simplest signs appealed to common sense. ‘No farmers, no food, no future.

PMQs has become as bland as a Bible study class

PMQs under Sir Keir’s premiership is less entertaining and volatile than before. Blame the landslide. A huge government majority fills the backbenches with half-witted placemen and wonks who have no experience of public speaking. They can’t command the attention of a large crowd. They don’t look the audience in the eye. And they fail to use their voices at full volume. Instead, they hunch like scared beginners over scripted crib-sheets handed to them by the whips. Can none of these talentless hacks memorise a few short sentences? It’s embarrassing. Sir Keir was in control. Kemi was at sea And Labour’s inept gang of newcomers will never hold Sir Keir to account because they lack any spark of individuality. PMQs is like a church-hall Bible class.

A flop: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, at Ambassadors Theatre, reviewed

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button carries a strap-line, ‘an unordinary musical’. Perhaps the word ‘extraordinary’ is simply too banal to capture the outstanding qualities of this unique show. The year is 1918 and a miraculous birth occurs in a remote Cornish fishing village. The newborn is not a baby but an adult pensioner, Benjamin, who emerges from the  womb wearing a three-piece suit, a pair of spectacles and a bowler hat. His shame-faced mother hastens away from the family home and takes a walk along the cliffs, which results in her death. Suicide, perhaps. And Benjamin’s angry father locks him in the attic and refuses to let him out. Benjamin escapes and visits the local pub where he enjoys a single pint of ale every Friday night for the next four years.

Kemi’s childish PMQs debut left a lot to be desired

Slightly childish and she didn’t win. That’s how Kemi Badenoch fared during her first bust-up with Sir Keir Starmer at PMQs. She began with a snippy reaction to his gag about the Tory party’s penchant for changing its commander-in-chief. Sir Keir said that Kemi was the fourth leader he’d faced in less than five years. She took this personally. ‘Thank you for that almost warm welcome,’ she carped. She then quoted David Lammy’s comment about Donald Trump. ‘A neo-Nazi woman-hating sociopath,’ Lammy had said, before his promotion to foreign secretary. She asked Sir Keir to apologise. An easy question to duck and Sir Keir took the opportunity to pose as an international power broker.

A riveting show crammed with the kind of risky gags rarely heard on stage these days

How To Survive Your Mother is a play based on a memoir by political dramatist Jonathan Maitland. He portrays himself in the show, and he muses on the wisdom of turning his manipulative, devious, sex-mad mother into a dramatic heroine. In the end, he’s swayed by ‘Edinburgh derangement syndrome’ as he calls it. ‘You’re diagnosed with terminal cancer and you think: “Great, there’s a show in this.”’ Maitland’s account of his rackety childhood is crammed with risky gags rarely heard on stage these days His mother, Bru, was a Jewish refugee from Haifa who posed as a Frenchwoman with Spanish roots to protect herself from the anti-Semitic bigotry. Her self-taught skills included seduction, bribery and fake suicide attempts.

Rachel Reeves sounded bored by her own Budget

The Tories lied! That was the thrust of Rachel Reeves’s first Budget today. She was very specific about the falsehoods. At the time of the spring financial forecast, she said, ‘they hid the reality of their public spending plans.’ Parliament and the public were the victims of ‘a cover up’ about pressures on our economy. The cunning Tories even duped the Office for Budget Responsibility by failing to provide ‘all the information’. But hang on. The OBR is staffed by the brainiest economists in the country, if not the world. Is possible that this synod of geniuses were duped by a few Tory wonks armed with dodgy spreadsheets? Reeves appears not to have asked why the OBR were so easy to swindle. She simply accepted their account of the fiddle.

Is Coogan’s Dr Strangelove as good as Sellers’s? Of course not

Stanley Kubrick’s surreal movie Dr Strangelove is a response to the fear of nuclear annihilation which obsessed every citizen in the western world from the end of the Cuban missile crisis in 1962 until the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. The play’s co-adaptors, Sean Foley and Armando Iannucci, are old enough to recall that fear – but they’ve omitted any sense of collective anxiety from their adaptation. It’s a just a larky tribute to the movie, like a sketch show. Daft not disturbing. It turns out Dr Strangelove is like Father Christmas – more potent as a mythical abstraction than as a reality The story starts with an insane American, General Ripper, ordering a squadron of B-52s to nuke Russia before the communists can overwhelm the United States.

Angela Rayner’s drama-queen habit at PMQs

‘The battle of the gingers.’ That’s how Angela Rayner described her tussle with Oliver Dowden at deputy prime minister’s questions today. But it was a cosy chat rather than a vicious duel.  Dowden probed Labour’s plan to fleece businesses by raising employers’ National Insurance contributions. Rayner disregarded the issue and drawled out a reply using experimental syntax. ‘I remember the party opposite what they said to business. What was it? “Eff to business,”’ she said. Dowden made little attempt to interrogate her and kept smirking and playing for laughs. ‘This is our last exchange across the despatch box,’ he said, fuelling rumours that he plans to give up his seat once Rishi Sunak’s replacement is announced.

Revenge tragedy for kids: The Duchess [of Malfi], at Trafalgar Theatre, reviewed

The Duchess [of Malfi] has been partially updated by Zinnie Harris in a puzzling modern-dress production. The set by Tom Piper resembles a concrete bunker in an abandoned apartment block and Ben Ormerod’s lighting throws weird shadows across the playing area, which seems to consist mostly of discarded plywood sheets. It feels like a scout-hut production on a micro-budget. The second act involves gory scenes of homicidal violence staged with amusingly inept special effects Jodie Whittaker stars as the lustful Duchess whose destiny lies in the hands of her elder brother, the Cardinal, played by the entertaining Paul Ready. Whittaker’s role is clumsily arranged within the play and she spends a lot of time off-stage. And her character lacks emotional coherence.

Keir Starmer is full of bilge

Who runs Britain’s foreign policy? Not the government, that’s clear. At PMQs, Sir Keir Starmer got a monumental roasting from Rishi Sunak whose patience seems to be wearing thin.  Technically, Rishi was asking questions but in fact he was correcting Labour’s latest raft of blunders. He began by urging the PM to have a discreet word with his foreign secretary, David Lammy, who appears to be learning on the job. Rishi suggested that Lammy should give China a rap over the knuckles for its ‘dangerous escalatory acts in the Taiwan Strait.’  Sir Keir nodded along. He agreed to ‘co-operate as a permanent member of the Security Council’ and he promised to ‘challenge on the point he makes where it’s needed.

Almeida’s Look Back in Anger is flawless

Strange title, Juno and the Paycock. Sean O’Casey’s family drama is about a hard-pressed Dublin matriarch, Juno, whose husband Jack ‘the paycock’ Boyle refuses to support his family and spends all day drinking with his penniless cronies. The producers have labelled the show an ‘Irish masterpiece’, which raises the bar. Mark Rylance plays Jack as a stammering, dissembling, wisecracking malingerer and he’s terrific value on stage, of course, but he seems detached from the material. He performs like a star comedian stranded in a boring classic against his will and he pokes fun at the script rather than immersing himself in the story.

Confessions of a political gambler 

What could be more exquisite than the life of the professional gambler? I began my career in 2016 with a modest punt of £1,000 on the London mayoral election. Bingo. Sadiq Khan won and I banked a profit of £100. Then Brexit. My guess was that the pollsters had overestimated support for Remain and that the country was keen to evict the conjoined twerps, David Cameron and George Osborne, from Downing Street. The referendum was our chance to vaporise both their careers simultaneously. One cross, two graves. That’s what happened. And I cleared another tidy sum. I cursed the day that I’d ever started gambling. I was a fool. A dunce. A clueless moron But I was haunted by a wager I’d laid in the winter of the same year while watching Fox News over a relaxing pint of Tesco claret.