Theatre Review: Guards at the Taj

I like going to theatres I’ve not been to before. It always feels like a small adventure. And given this particular theatre, the Bush, is in Shepherd’s Bush and thus somewhat out of the way for this West Sussex-ite, in this case it felt like a very literal adventure too. (I got to go on the Overground, for me this is very exciting.)

The Bush has just undergone a multi-million pound redevelopment which they were kind enough to invite me to have a nose around before watching their season opener, Guards at the Taj by Rajiv Joseph.

The new building is, in short, is a fantastic space. The front of house and bar/cafe area is great - airy, welcoming and with a really nice, relaxed vibe that is quite rare for a theatre. It’s also added a 60-seat studio to its 200-seat main house which is a space I’m definitely keen to check out.

A selection of crap photos of the new Bush building.
The middle two are of the toilets which for some reason I really liked!

Guards at the Taj is mostly a play about beauty: what it is, where it comes from, who should own it and how we judge it. It tells the story of two men, Humayun and Babur, guarding the Taj Mahal on the morning that it is unveiled for the first time. The emperor has decreed that noone can look at it as the dawn light hits it for the first time, but Babbur and Humayan do and are cosmically rewarded with the gruesome task of fulfilling the Emperor's demands that nothing so beautiful should ever be built again - by cutting off the hands of all 20,000 men who have worked on it. Karma’s a real bitch.

Beauty appears in several forms here, notably the Taj itself and in nature. The Taj’s beauty, Joseph seems to suggest, is destructive, not only practically for the 20,000 handless men but also to the happiness of Babur and Humayun and their friendship (another sort of beauty in itself). Nature’s beauty, symbolised here by flocks of birds, is redemptive and comes to represent a happy, peaceful time in the character’s lives. The Taj, manmade beauty, can only be seen by the privileged; the birds, natural beauty, can be seen by everyone.

For all that though, this production isn’t overtly aesthetic. Soutra Gilmour’s design is incredibly effective and incredibly simple; a rusty looking elevated platform set diagonally across the back of the equally rusty looking performance space (it’s not a stage in this production, though it may be in future - the new main house is completely adaptive), whilst ominous trenches run out towards the audience, again diagonally. It’s angular, stark and more than a little grim. An inauspicious setting for a play that’s all about beauty.

Beauty is evoked though. A really clever use of sound and lighting, courtesy of George Dennis and Richard Howell respectively, does it on one level. Fantastical bird song and a warm peachy light stand in for nature’s, and memory’s, beauty whilst unforgiving bright white lighting stands in for the Taj Mahal itself - use your imagination, it totally works. But the grimness of the story is also evoked too, notably through an ominous and judicious use of music, clever variation of the volume of sound to the point it occasionally makes the seating in the tiny theatre shake and an interesting use of backlighting to project weird shadows against the bare walls, usually of the two actors themselves.

And then of course there’s all the blood. Honestly, a lot more blood than I was expecting - and clearly more so than some of the audience members sitting in the front row nervously watching it approach their shoes were expecting too! That said, there is much less gore than director Jamie Lloyd (yes, that Jamie Lloyd) could have chosen to have included. For example, and spoiler alert, the moment where Humayun cuts off Babur’s hands is portrayed in this production via blinding white light and a piercing alarm tone. Reading Rajiv Joseph’s original play text, however, the scene is much, much more explicit and icky. It’s an interesting decision, perhaps dictated by the limitations of a small theatre, but I’m not sure it’s the one I would have made. As gross as the scene would be to watch, a play that is so concerned with beauty would only be strengthened, in my view, by showing us a bit more anti-beauty as well.

Beauty is also passionately evoked in Joseph’s text - modern, simple, surprisingly funny, humane and presented without dialect as per the stage directions - which is handled really well by the two young actors, Danny Ashok and Darren Kuppan, who comprise 100% of the cast. Ashok’s Humayun is the stronger performance for my money, though to be fair he is also the stronger character for my money, and is a study in stoic devotion to duty that crumbles and expands beautifully towards the end of the piece. Kuppan’s Babur isn’t weak by any means though, and he handles the emotional meat in the middle of the play, the horror at having cut off 40,000 hands and “killed beauty”, fantastically.

For a play that, plotwise, ends with someone lopping off their best friend’s hands Guards at the Taj ultimately left a very optimistic taste in my mouth. The final scene, a flashback of Humayun’s to the time he and Babur watched the flight of a million brightly coloured birds, drives home the ultimate triumph of natural over manmade beauty; nothing will ever be as beautiful to Humayun as those birds were. Possibly it’s because manmade everything is such a fucking disaster at the moment, or possibly it’s just that I really like birds (I do), but I found that a comforting thought.

Guards at the Taj plays in the main house at the Bush theatre until 20th May.

Theatre Review: Limehouse

Limehouse is, pleasingly, a play that doesn’t mess about.

“The Labour party’s fucked!” bellows a tense David Owen in the first line of Steve Waters’ new play, currently on at the Donmar Warehouse. A huge, knowing, slightly weary laugh erupts from the audience and very much sets the tone for the entire 105 minutes that is to follow. This is a play that knows exactly what it’s about: telling the story of the imagined action which immediately preceded the founding of the SDP and the Gang of Four who brought it about but also drawing out the parallels with the situation the Labour party finds itself in today. And let’s be honest those parallels are obvious, many and depressing.

If there’s anything to complain about in this production it is the very obviousness of these parallels, in that they make it difficult to feel that Waters is saying anything new. Yes Michael Foot and Jeremy Corbyn are both shit, what of it? Yes the Europe debate is a mess, we’re very well aware of that thank you very much. Even the big question mark that hangs over the very existence of the play - is the Labour party about to split again? - feels over thought at this point. I mean have you read The Guardian recently?!

However, even if he doesn’t add anything new to the debate Waters’ writing is irreverent, interesting and, most importantly, funny enough to make a very entertaining contribution to it nonetheless. Not afraid to be punchy and chuck in a big swear here and there, but equally not afraid of some deeply elegant and lengthy speeches about the importance of values to notions of identity which will resonate with anyone watching this play who possesses a soul, regardless of what colour rosette that soul happens to wear. With one exception - a po-faced and unnecessary coda which labours the point about historical resonance to an irritating degree - Limehouse is an excellent piece of writing.

And it is exquisitely acted. It’s a necessarily tiny cast - Waters’ only addition to the Gang of Four being David Owen’s seemingly quite excellent wife Debbie - but it positively drips class. I think Tom Goodman-Hill’s David Owen is probably my favourite, a study in charm, barely concealed menace and old school British bombast which results in a portrayal that is arguably much more appealing than the real thing. Paul Chahidi’s Bill Rogers is the most sympathetic of the Four, excellently observed and played with an endearing shyness and gentle humanity which is difficult not to warm to. Roger Allam’s Roy Jenkins is very near perfectly observed, yet somehow still manages to be more than an impression despite being a very, very good impression; capturing the middle class sensibilities which would ultimately be part of the SDP’s undoing perfectly. Debra Gillett’s Shirley Williams rounds out the Four and replicates the good sense mixed with passion (and natty waistcoats) that makes the real Shirl such a treasure really well but, again, remains more than just an impression. Nathalie Armin completes the cast as Debbie Owen and exploits the fact that we don’t know her real life counterpart to create an entirely sensible, rational and constructive foil to all the politicians - perhaps a small point of satire in and of itself.

A short play with a teeny tiny cast demands a sharp and contained production which the team assembled for Limehouse absolutely deliver. Polly Findlay’s direction is crisp and pacey; Alex Eales’ design is simple but effective; Jon Clark’s lighting does a lot with relatively little (his use of spotlights in particular is sufficiently good that I actually noticed it). Special credit is deserved also by whoever makes the pasta bake that is eaten as part of the play - it smelled bloody amazing.

I really rated Limehouse and I think anyone with an interest in politics, of whatever colour, should consider this a must see. I’m not sure it has the beyond-politics appeal of This House, but for political geeks, nerds and apparatchiks it’s 100% worth your time and money. Assuming that is you can get anywhere near a ticket - day returns and standing are your best bet if you’ve not got one already.

Limehouse plays at the Donmar Warehouse until April 15th.

   

Theatre Review: The Miser

In my day job, I occasionally have days where I am obliged to spend upwards of three hours listening to Ministers and civil servants explain dry pieces of international trade rules to various select committees (seriously, if anyone understands the role of the WTO amber box on agricultural subsidies come talk to me).

This is, frankly, as exciting as it sounds and I usually spend the sessions wishing I was at the theatre. In many ways this review is therefore a cautionary tale of being careful what you wish for...

The Miser is apparently a classic French comedy by Moliere, adapted for a West End revival by Sean Foley (who also directs) and Phil Porter, that tells the story of Harpagon, the titular Miser, and his obsession with protecting his fortune from any and all threat - real and/or imagined. When the love lives of his two children pose a serious threat to his money passion and parsimony collide and hilarity ensues.

Or not.

Because this production is not funny. It's amateurish, sub-pantomime, puerile, cringe inducing fluff. Badly staged, barely acted.

I was, in short, not a fan.

The adaptation, for a start, is genuinely bizarre. The insertion of 'topical' 'jokes' (about austerity, payday loans, zero hours contract and 'le Sports Direct') at random points to serve no purpose becomes exceptionally tiring exceptionally quickly. More irritating still is the even more random insertion of French words and phrases at various points where they have no business ever being for, presumably, attempted comedy effect. Unless you think that French as a concept is inherently funny - in which case you'd be better spending your time reading your Route Nationale, a niche joke which I'm aware gives my age away heavily - there is no possible reason for this. Any subtlety, satire or sophistication that was in Moliere's original text is drowned amongst the cacophony of nonsense, which is a pretty damning indictment of any adaptation for my money. Sean Foley's comedy adaptations (he was, after all, the brains behind excellent French farce adaptation The Painkiller in the Branagh season at The Garrick) are usually reliably strong so all of this is doubly disappointing.

Disappointing too is the manner in which the text, for what it is, is approached. Presumably this, too, is a Sean Foley decision in his role as director and it is as baffling as the adaptation. There is zero sophistication; lines are shouted (SHOUTED!!!!!), speech impediments are used throughout to no particular comedy effect and I lost the will to care whether Lee Mack was genuinely constantly forgetting his lines and improvising or whether this was intended. Either way, in the formal setting of what is supposed to be classic French farce none of it cuts the Dijon (NB: this self consciously poor attempt at a joke is funnier than anything in the actual play).

The (mis)casting of the piece is also a real shame. There are a host of fantastic stand ups in the cast - not least the superb Lee Mack and Andi Osho who I just love - and the rare moments where I felt the corners of my mouth turning up were thanks to them breaking character entirely and reverting to their stand up personas. But this is a play. There should be acting, not stand up comedy. Or at least acting as well as stand up comedy. And there just isn't: there's shouting, mincing, stupid voices and weak slapstick, but really nothing in the way of acting.

The cumulative effect of all of this for me was a bizarre mishmash of a really lazy pantomime and contextless stand up which didn't fit together, didn't fit the piece and just wasn't funny. I can't even honestly say it was so bad it was good; it was just bad. I was, frankly, kind of angry that it was occupying the same stage that mere weeks ago hosted my beloved This House.

However, all criticism and especially comedy criticism is subjective, and there were plenty of people in the theatre laughing their arses off so, who knows, maybe it was just me. (I don't think it was though. After all plenty of people voted for Brexit and Donald Trump. You can't trust plenty of people.)

Should you be so inclined, The Miser plays at The Garrick theatre until 3rd June. Tickets are available from BoxOffice.co.uk right here.

My ticket for this show was provided free by BoxOffice.co.uk but all opinions expressed in this review are, as should be glaringly obvious, my own. They also sell tickets to stuff I liked (such as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead).

Theatre Review: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead

There's no denying that there's a certain pressure to watching a play by a playwright you don't tend to be a fan of when that playwright is standing three rows behind you. Especially when that playwright is Tom Stoppard. And the play is his fifty (FIFTY!) year old debut masterwork Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. 

Now, it is certainly the case that my Stoppard encounters to date - the ponderous and dull Hapgood and the slightly less dull but no less ponderous The Hard Problem - have not been happy ones. But I wanted so much to love The Old Vic's new production of R&G (as I shall be calling it because laziness) and I felt like I should love it, purely because it's such a classic. And you know what, Reader, I did love it. Huzzah and, indeed, hurrah!

I didn't just love it through sheer force of will either. In truth, and rather surprisingly based on past experience, it was the writing I loved most of all. It is baffling to me that this play is fifty years old. The writing feels so fresh and relevant ('I never believed in England' packing a particular punch in the post-Brexit world). It's also a fantastic example of the exact thing that has pissed me of the most in Stoppard before: the melding of an exploration of Big Ideas and an actual plot works so well in R&G whereas previously I've always found watching Stoppard a bit like being punched in the face with his latest Big Ideas whilst something purporting to be a plot is neglected in the background.

It helps that the Big Ideas that R&G seeks to explore are rather more accessible (and interesting) than those of Hapgood (particle physics) and The Hard Problem (game theory) too: the nature of truth (#fakenews), memory, drama, free will and identity are all given a very effective airing. Sometimes this is done in small ways  - the fact that no one, including the characters, are precisely sure which of R&G is which - sometimes big ways and long speeches. The latter occasionally gets a mite tiresome, particularly at the beginning of act one when you don't yet have a plot to put them in context, but overall it really works. If this is what Stoppard was shooting at with his aforementioned other work then I feel like I suddenly understand those plays a lot more. It's perhaps noteworthy that, according to the programme, whenever he's asked what R&G is about Stoppard still just replies 'two friends on their way to Elsinore'. I doubt this same casualness is applied if he's asked about Hapgood or The Hard Problem. There's probably a lesson - or a GCSE drama essay question - in there somewhere.

This R&G also has an exceptional R&G, as it were. The star booking is, of course, Harry Potter himself, Daniel Radcliffe, as Rosencrantz - a part in which he is very well cast. He does comedy very well and his downtrodden, slightly stupid, but genuinely likeable R completely works. Technically, his projection still isn't quite right for a venue the size of The Old Vic, but this is a relatively minor quibble and certainly doesn't distract from the enjoyment of the piece.

Joshua McGuire's Guildenstern is the real joy of the two titular characters. Likeable, despite being a bit of a dick; enjoyably superior, despite not actually being that much more intelligent that R when it comes down to it; and carrying the majority of the heavy lifting, text-wise, with ease. He is excellent and this is a fantastically accomplished performance from a relatively young (trans: younger than me) actor.

However, both Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are acted under the table by the sublime David Haig as The Player, a joyous romp of a part. Dressed like a poor man's Jack Sparrow and reprising his Inspector Grim from The Thin Blue Line voice (to my utter delight, I loved that show), Haig doesn't so much steal every scene he's in so much as seduce it. It's a genuinely great performance, I challenge you to find one more all-round entertaining anywhere on the London stage,  with ultimately some real depth and a lot of heart. My performances of the year list has a new top billing.

I have finally found a Tom Stoppard play to fall in love with and I question the opinions of anyone who can see this production and not feel the same way. Another solid gold hit for the breathtakingly consistent Matthew Warchus' Old Vic. (What a booking he's turned out to be - Kevin who..?)

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead plays at The Old Vic until 29th April. It's also getting the NT Live treatment - The Old Vic's first - on 20th April.

Theatre Review: The Boys in the Band

The timeliness of my blogging is improving guys: today I’m reviewing a play which closes tomorrow rather than one that’s already closed!

Written in the late 1960s by Mart Crowley, The Boys in the Band tells the story of a group of gay New Yorkers, and a single straight(?) old school friend, meeting up for a birthday party. Drink flows, and amusing banter gets very nasty very quickly. It all ends in tears.

For a play that’s almost 50 years old, The Boys in the Band has aged pretty well. It’s still smart, sharp and vicious(ly funny) enough to be a very entertaining and affecting piece. But it is dated too, notably in the case of some of the comedy. I’m particularly thinking of the character of Emory, a Mr Humphries-esque stereotype of a mincing, sibilant gay man that, as the Are You Being Served? reboot so conclusively proved, doesn’t really cut it as a plausible character anymore. Or a particularly funny character either. I found him exceptionally irritating (though judging by the audience on the night I went I am perhaps in the minority on this). The ‘serious’ bits have aged much better and I found the emotionally brutal second act to be much more effective than the more comedic first.

The fact that this play has two acts though is baffling. With a run time of less than two hours there’s no natural place for an interval to sit and the cramming of one into the middle of an otherwise rather dramatic and punchy (literally and figuratively) scene, robbing it of any momentum, feels rather more like a way of pushing up bar income than anything justified by the action on stage. Were it not for the fact that this production has the best pre-show and interval play list I’ve ever heard it would have been doubly irritating.

Gristling aside, this production is great fun and the fact that it’s as successful as it is can be placed firmly at the feet of its excellent cast. Ian Hallard in particular is sensational as Michael, the party host and lead character in terms of stage time by a mile. The range he displays in this part is extraordinary, from broad comedy to awful cruelty via powerful self loathing. It’s a faultless performance, by far the best I’ve seen this year and likely one of the best I will see for the rest of it too. A few other performances are worthy of mention too: Daniel Boys is something of a ‘straight acting’ revelation, to me at least, as the neurotic Donald, Greg Locket is a welcome injection of humanity as the (relatively) gentle Bernard and John Hopkins, aka my second favourite John-Nettles-era-Midsomer-Murders sidekick, is unrecognisably brilliant as the exceptionally unsympathetic Alan, the token straight(?) - probably the most interesting and complex character of the lot.

You’ll notice that Mark Gatiss doesn’t feature on the above list and someone else is described as the play’s lead which, if you’ve seen any of the marketing for this production, may surprise you. It certainly surprised me. Although his part, Harold, is the catalyst for the action he’s actually not on stage for that long and, frankly, plays a pretty one note (if very funny) character. Gatiss’ performance is very good but he’s not the star here. It irritates me a lot that the marketing suggests he is and, whilst of course I understand why that decision has been taken, in my view it does a pretty egregious disservice to Ian Hallard. It irritates me to the extent that it actually detracted from my enjoyment of the production slightly, which is very rare for a marketing gimmick.

However, The Boys in the Band is still a fun night out. Not perfect, but worth your time nonetheless. As a very early entry in the ‘gay cannon’ (doesn’t that sound fabulous?) it’s a super interesting piece of social history and, if that’s not your bag, Ian Hallard’s performance alone is worth the price of a ticket. Just make sure you arrive early enough to enjoy the epic pre-show music and have a sitting down dance along. Be quick though, the end of the run is as nigh as nigh can be.

The Boys in the Band plays at the Vaudeville Theatre until 18th February.

Theatre review: The Twentieth Century Way

I’m doing that thing again where I review a show that’s closed. Sorry. But stick with me, there’s good stuff in here.

The Twentieth Century Way is a rather glorious euphemism for gay men in the early twentieth century using the advent of zip flies to access anonymous sex in public places. I love this as a phrase.

It’s also a play, by Tom Jacobson, that tells the story of a couple of actors on the make, Warren and Brown, who offer their services to various local police forces posing as gay men themselves to entrap real gay men in these situations, marking their bits with indelible ink and calling police backup to arrest them.

I say that, but it becomes increasingly obvious in the eighty minute run time that this isn’t what the play is about. Or at least not everything it’s about. And this is where the fun lies.

The play switches between the multiple stories of the characters Warren and Brown are playing and the real gay men they are fooling. But it also incorporates the story of Warren and Brown themselves and, getting more meta, the real life actors playing them. You very quickly start to question what is really happening here. Are the (fictional) actors actually taking part in these entrapment schemes? Is it all just, as the very beginning of the play sets it up, an improvisation game between two bored (fictional) actors in an audition waiting room? And what have the real life actors got to do with all of this? Where does their reality fit into the multiple stories they’re telling and the multiple levels of truth, or otherwise, they reveal?

If that all sounds a bit pretentious and complicated then, in truth, that’s because it is. But it’s also really entertaining, engaging and an interesting way to portray the age old debates about the nature of truth and acting that are explored in so many plays in more conventional ways. And of course Warren and Brown’s scheme is based on a true story so the play is also a fascinating piece of social history as well.

Adding to the confusion and excitement of this piece is the fact that it is entirely played by two actors, James Sindall and Fraser Wall, on stage the whole time, making only the most minor changes in their accents, mannerisms and costumes to demark the myriad different characters they both play. Again it’s a piece of theatrical trickery but, again, it works. It is very, very occasionally overdone - with both of the actors being given ‘party piece’ sequences to show off as many characters as quickly as possible in a slightly irritating way - but the two are both really impressive. The subtleties of the physical changes they make whilst still managing to portray recognisably different characters is incredible, as is the sheer range of emotion and characterisation they’re able to create. It feels wrong to single one person out in a two man show, but Wall in particular is fantastic. Both are names to watch out for in the future I suspect.

Admittedly this show, which was playing at the teeny tiny (and utterly adorable) Jermyn Street Theatre, has now closed. But I’d be amazed if it doesn’t reappear in London in some guise again and I do hope it’s this one so more people get a chance to see it. In any guise, it’s certainly worth seeing; in this one, it’s fantastic.

Theatre Review: This House

If there were some kind of master list of things I love in this world, theatre and slightly obscure political geekery would definitely both be on it.

It may not surprise you to learn, then, that a play that tells the story of the internal machinations of the Labour and Conservative whips offices in the 1970s is 100% up my street. At least 100%. More if that were mathematically possible.

Of course the play in question is This House, because even if you’ve somehow stumbled this far without reading the title of the post what other play could that last paragraph possibly be describing? A speedy, but timely, revival of James Graham's 2012 National Theatre production, involving many of the original creative team, This House tells the story of the hot mess that was British politics in the mid to late 70s through the eyes of the men and woman (not a typo) whose job it was to try and keep their respective parties' shows on the road.

For a political saddo like me, there was no way I wasn't going to find this play fascinating. And I did, but I also absolutely loved it which I don't think was as guaranteed (though admittedly fairly likely). What's arguably more interesting is why I loved it: yes the political stuff is super interesting and done really well, but more than that this play is so innovative, so funny and - most surprisingly - so humane that I fell for it utterly.

Let's deal with the political stuff first because, at least from the experience of the non-political friend I went with, this seems to be the thing that's making some people nervous about seeing this play. Based on my highly scientific survey of one person, there seems to be a fear that if you don't understand the ins and outs of Parliamentary procedure - who the fuck does? - or the key political events of the 1970s (and let's be honest there are a lot of those) you won't understand or worse won't enjoy This House. That's not at all the case. The play explains the events you need to know about well. It works subtle explanations of the key bits of Parliamentary ridiculousness into the dialogue. It almost never uses the names of any of the real politicians who feature, referring to them instead by their constituency thus making it much easier to keep track of who's doing what for non-geeks in the audience (whilst providing the geeks with a fun game of spot the MP). It makes a play about arguably one of the least accessible democratic institutions in the world into something completely accessible to anyone, and it does it so subtly. That in itself is worthy of love and praise.

It's more than that though, so much more. As interested as This House is in political history, it's also interested in ideas of identity, loyalty, honour, how far you should go to defend your deepest held beliefs and what happens when all of these things interact and conflict. James Graham's writing across all of these 'big ideas' and the political stuff is superb - funny, touching, straightforward and razor sharp. It connects with the audience in a genuinely exciting way that shows off live theatre at its very best; I lost count of the number of audible gasps from the audience I heard on the night I saw it. He is backed up by fantastic design that turns the stage into a miniature House of Commons, variously accommodating the two whips teams' offices and the House of Commons (and indeed real life auditorium) bar on the floor in the middle of the two sets of benches.

It also helps the play that Graham's lead characters, whilst based on real people, are not household names. He focuses his action particularly around the Labour and Tory Deputy Chief Whips, sensibly as they are the ones who are supposed to do the deals with other parties and with their own backbenchers. It's certainly not a hindrance to my love of This House that this production has the excellent Steffan Rhodri and Nathaniel Parker, two of my absolute faves, in these key roles. Rhodri in particular is excellent as Walter Harrison, the hard arse with a heart Labour Deputy whilst Parker is a perfectly patrician foil as Jack Weatherill, his Tory counterpart. The climactic scene where Jack offers to defy his own whip on a vote to bring down the Labour Government to cancel out the vote of a dying Labour MP who Walter is refusing to call down to London to vote for fear the effort would kill him, only for Walter to refuse the offer in the knowledge that Labour will lose the vote, is a beautifully understated study in notions of honour, friendship and humanity. It was the recipient of at least one hugely audible audience gasp, and rightly so. A hardworking ensemble cast plays all the rest of the many characters exceptionally well too. I am jealous of the guy who got to play Norman St John-Stevas, Ken Clarke and Michael Heseltine!

Honestly, I cannot recommend this production enough. Political or otherwise there's so much here to love. A genuine must see in a year when perhaps we all do need a lesson in how to laugh at politics again and a timely reminder that politicians are actually human beings (most of them).

This House plays at the Garrick Theatre until February 25th.