Reviews

‘Lockyer’s performance is a tour de force’ ★★★★ Wilton’s Music Hall’s The Play’s The Thing: A One Person Hamlet is a striking testament to the power of minimalist theatre, anchored by Mark Lockyer’s virtuosic performance. The production strips Shakespeare’s tragedy to its raw essence, delivering a brisk 95-minute whirlwind that feels both urgent and timeless. Mark Lockyer, under Fiona Laird’s deft direction, delivers a performance of astonishing versatility, proving that a single actor—armed with nothing but skill, imagination, and a half-drawn red curtain—can make Elsinore’s shadows feel thrillingly alive. The production’s aesthetic is elegantly stripped-back, relying on the raw power of storytelling rather than ornate spectacle. The partially drawn curtain, a clever nod to the makeshift theatricality of Hamlet’s own “Mousetrap,” frames the stage like a child’s earnest living-room production—an apt metaphor for a play obsessed with performance and artifice. Yet this simplicity is deceptive. Every choice feels deliberate, from Lockyer’s fluid physicality to Tim Mitchell's masterful lighting, which conjures the Ghost of King Hamlet through stark, angular spotlights. The effect is chillingly spectral, evoking the eerie minimalism of a Victorian lantern show. When the Ghost looms over Hamlet, its presence is rendered not through CGI grandeur but through the primal interplay of light and actor—a reminder that true theatrical magic lies in suggestion. Born from pandemic-era innovation—Laird conceived the idea after seeing Lockyer excel in a socially distanced two-hander—this adaptation thrives on clarity and momentum. The collaboration pays off: Lockyer’s command of the text is absolute. His Claudius is a masterclass in regal menace—a newly crowned king whose charm masks the sweat of guilt, his ambition as palpable as a knife’s edge. In contrast, his Hamlet is a whirlwind of modern neuroses, oscillating between sardonic wit and raw despair. The prince’s grief for his father feels viscerally real, his disgust at Gertrude’s hasty remarriage laced with a bitterness that transcends centuries. Lockyer’s vocal dexterity and physical precision ensure each character is distinct, yet the transitions are seamless, as though the ghosts of Elsinore are possessing him one by one. That said, the production’s narrow focus comes at a cost. While Lockyer’s male characters pulse with psychological nuance, Gertrude and Ophelia are sketched with frustrating brevity. Gertrude’s moral ambiguity—Is she complicit? Naive?—is flattened into a broadly maternal archetype, while Ophelia’s descent into madness lacks the haunting complexity that makes her tragedy so piercing. It’s a rare misstep in an otherwise fiercely disciplined adaptation, though perhaps an inevitable one when a single actor shoulders the weight of every role. Lockyer’s performance is a tour de force of focus and invention, his transitions between roles so fluid they feel almost alchemical. This is a Hamlet as a tightrope act, balancing Shakespeare with bold reinvention. For Shakespeare purists, it’s a fresh lens on a familiar masterpiece; for newcomers, a riveting entry point. Either way, it’s a masterclass in what theatre can achieve when talent, vision, and text collide. The Play’s The Thing: A One Person Hamlet By William Shakespeare Presented by Regeneration Theatre Directed and Edited by Fiona Laird Wilton’s Music Hall 1st April to 12th April The Play's The Thing: A One Person Hamlet - Wilton's Music Hall wiltons.org.uk

‘Oscar Wilde back in London’s west end’ ★★★★ I have always been of the opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either everything or nothing. Which do you know? - Lady Bracknell in The Importance of Being Earnest. The best things about Michael Mac Liammoir’s The Importance of Being Oscar, first performed in Dublin in 1960, were the long extracts from Oscar Wilde’s work, showcasing his extraordinary range, from a delightful, insubstantial comedy of manners like The Importance of Being Ernest, to the grim hopelessness of The Ballad of Reading Gaol. And it is here that this new production from Original Theatre is at its best. Against the simplest of sets – a circle of light designed to ensure focus on the one actor - Alastair Whatley performs these extracts to understated perfection. Even if, like me, you know the exchange between Ernest Worthing and Lady Bracknell in The Importance of Being Earnest by heart, you will still enjoy Whatley’s performance of it, including the line for which the late Edith Evans will forever be associated: “A handbag!” Later, as Wilde’s life and his work darkens, come The Ballad of Reading Goal, for which Whatley stands, utterly still, only the top half of him lit, and tells us in a flat, even voice about a man about to be hanged for murdering his lover – “For each man kills the thing he loves.” He reads the poem brilliantly. Each word is like a dagger, the more so because it is spoken without sharpness. The night I saw it, you could have heard a pin drop in the cramped 70-seat Jermyn Street auditorium. In addition to these gems, Whatley offers us a splendidly observed rendition of an exchange from Lady Windermere’s Fan between Lord Wootton and his manservant, and a searing record of unhappiness and resentment in Wilde’s letter to his lover, Lord Alfred Douglas, after Wilde’s release from prison. There are some lines which Wilde enthusiasts await with expectation, and generally we are not disappointed. Is the dying Wilde going to look at the dreadful wallpaper in his cheap Paris hotel room and murmer: “One of us has to go”? Bless you, of course he is. This really is a play of two halves, like Wilde’s life: before and after he was sent to prison for two years with hard labour, and not permitted to see his children again, which was society’s punishment for what he himself christened “the love that dare not speak its name.” I was left wishing that he had been able to glimpse even the beginning of the revolution in society’s attitudes, and to appreciate the important part in it played by his own life and work. Whatley and director Michael Fentiman understand that less is often more, that you do not need to raise your voice or weep to express emotion, and they know the value of stillness. A monologue asks a lot of an actor, for the audience has only one voice to hear all evening. Whatley is up to the challenge. His performance is one of masterly restraint. Photography: Marc Brenner The Importance of Being Oscar BY MICHEáL MAC LIAMMóIR. DIRECTED BY MICHAEL FENTIMAN. PERFORMED BY ALASTAIR WHATLEY Jermyn Street Theatre 28 March - 19 April 2025 Tickets An Original Theatre and Reading Rep Theatre Co-Production

‘Nice premise and performed fantastically, but lacking in big, original belly laughs.’ ★★★ Rising star Rosie Day's second play after her acclaimed debut, Instructions for A Teenage Armageddon, is a deep dive into the puzzles and webs of family dynamics. Billed as Saltburn meets Schitt's Creek, (This Is Not A) Happy Room finds the variously estranged members of the Henderson family reuniting in a Blackpool hotel for their bachelor father's umpteenth wedding. The catch? He dies on the way and the family have to come together to turn it into a funeral instead. It's a great and original setup. We're introduced to a series of flawed but likeable characters: arriving first, the mostly-thirty-something siblings: highly strung new mum Laura (Andrea Valls) and her hapless husband Charles (Tom Kanji), super successful but strangely hopeless actor Elle (Rosie Day), and their wildly neurotic brother Simon (Jonny Weldon), all of whom have nothing in common but the shared childhood from which they've all tried to run away. They're joined by their effortlessly glamorous mother, Esther (a brilliant Amanda Abbington) and their senile great Aunt Agatha (Alison Liney), and later by a passively judgemental American psychologist called Hayley (Jazz Jenkins), a second cousin of someone or other, whose presence I never fully understood. They are a good set of characters placed into a simple and inventive situation. The thing is, that setup is a lot funnier than the execution. Something about it never quite gets off the ground. It remains a not hugely interesting examination of family dynamics through the lens of an extremely privileged one. That's not to say it isn't worthy of examination, but whereas Saltburn is satirising class, (This Is Not A) Happy Room veers a little too closely to smugness. Jokes aren't really ironic, but literal, jibes about Blackpool, bowling, Steps, The Daily Mail, cheap vodka from the BP garage, have the potential to illicit the kind of self-satisfied reaction that not all audiences will relate to (though, yes, granted, dysfunctional families are pretty universal) or feel the kind of sympathy they're supposed to be feeling for the human rights lawyer, multi-million dollar grossing actor, and hypochondriac layabout. Now, I'm not saying that this IS how it comes across, just that it's close. But equally, there's potential for greatness on the other side: the family's casual racism, entitlement, and snobbery starts to touch on something interesting, though it never quite gets there or becomes self-aware enough to unpack its own rich observations, probably because it keeps the characters far too likeable to explore that potential. In this way, there's a bit of an identity crisis going on. Is it a standard, good-hearted comedy more like Four Weddings and a Funeral? Or is it a searing indictment of class like Saltburn? And though the writing is playful, it doesn’t deliver the deadpan genius of Schitt’s Creek. However, like that aforementioned sitcom, it is in those characters that (This Is Not A) Happy Room really excels. These are some sensational performances. Particularly brilliant is Amanda Abbington, who, in a cut-glass class of her own, conjures up a fantastically campy matriarch with moments of surprising depth and a lifetime behind her eyes. Then there’s Alison Liney, in her professional debut, as the dizzy great aunt, and whose long background in amateur theatre not only shows the value of those groups but has given us her impeccable comic timing and absolute star quality, and she should be snapped up immediately. Also worthy of mention is Jonny Weldon as Simon, whose every tic and beat is truly hilarious (not too much, not too little), beyond even what the source material has given him. The entire cast are on form. Scenes do start to become a little repetitive throughout the 90-minute runtime and the already quite slow momentum of the plot struggles to sustain these sluggish, though well-structured, scenes that tend to tread the same ground with different characters. At the end of the day, the play has a nice premise and is performed fantastically, but it's lacking in big, original belly laughs, leaning mostly on reliable but uninspiring cliché. There is a great potential for farce, but it doesn't quite deliver that energy. There's great potential for social commentary, but it keeps its scope too small. So overall, it’s not doing anything new with the material: it’s just sort of circling it, but it’s certainly not bad either. If this is not a happy room, it is at least an entertaining one. Photography: Mark Senior (This Is Not A) Happy Room by Rosie Day Directed by Hannah Price King’s Head Theatre, 1 – 27 April 2025 Box Office: https://kingsheadtheatre.com/whats-on/14/by-rosie-day/this-is-not-a-happy-room Reviewed by Alix Owen

‘The quality shows in a riotous, joyous production’ ★★★★★ Marco Boroni, just a poor boy from a poor family, has a talent, a wonderful thing, as everyone listens when he starts to sing. For Marco is a castrato in 18th century Venice and one of the few of his kind for whom fame and fortune (and a wealthy patron, and more important smitten patroness) beckon the purity of his preserved childish treble voice. Yet Marco himself (Jack Chambers) has a musical ear and a love-struck eye to tell him the female roles he’s trained for and craves at the city’s theatre might just be better sung, who’d a thunk it, by an actual woman, the one that he wants being Gioia (Jewelle Hutchinson), a slave girl from the wrong side of the Grand Canal. And so the pair of star-crossed lovers grab their lives, defy convention and the sneers of their superiors to get out of their gutters and reach for the heavens. Stiletto, a new musical, comes with a high pedigree. Multiple Oscar, Golden Globe and Grammy nominee Matthew Wilder wrote the music and lyrics, while the Book writer Tim Luscombe is an Olivier nominee. The quality shows in a riotous, joyous production with nary a lull for breath in its two hours of grand passions and low skullduggery. Ceci Calf’s set design, dark pillars and simple, transformable furniture is gorgeously supplemented by Anna Kelsey’s pitch-perfect costumes and lighting designer Ben Ormerod’s darks and shades. The design also hides a 10-piece orchestra back there , and allows the show to prove the point that nothing can’t be improved by a bit more cello, a brass section and a mandolin. There’s real attention to detail in the staging, too – for example, the invisible removal of a dead body and a near-perfect theatrical sleight-of-hand with some cleverly costumed actor-switching. The quality of sound impresses too, with a series of songs that have that character of instant familiarity that suggests you’ve heard this before while still being entirely original. We’re very much in 20th/21st century musical theatre style rather than 18th century Venice for these. Marco and Gioia get their high points – Jewelle Hutchinson soaring on God-Given Gif t when setting out her stall early, for example. And the ensemble pieces sound like the hits – Every Day of Your Life featuring the entire cast at opening and close. But there are standout songs in the solos for non-lead characters, with Greg Barnett (as Marco’s Svengali-like tutor, cast aside by the pupil who’s outgrown him) and Sam Barrett (as a worm who turns against his corrupt lord and master) the absolute high points in How Do I Get Through and, especially, Go Along. The whole show, from the opening bars, is a feast for eye and ear, and, while there may be little surprise in the basic Romeo-and-Juliet-triumph-over-adversity of the plot, the songs are the thing here, and a very very good thing they are, too. Photography: Johan Persson STILETTO at Charing Cross Theatre 24 March – 15 June 2025 Music and Lyrics: Matthew Wilder Book: Tim Luscombe Director: David Gilmore Charing Cross Theatre 24 March to 15 June 2025 Box Office: https://www.charingcrosstheatre.co.uk/ Reviewer David Weir’s plays include Confessional (Oran Mor, Glasgow), Better Together (Jack Studio, London). Those and others performed across Scotland, Wales and England, and in Australia, Canada, South Korea, Switzerland and Belgium. Awards include Write Now Festival prize, Constance Cox award, SCDA best depiction of Scottish life, and twice Bruntwood longlisted.

‘A Chilling, Cerebral Clash of Faith and Fanaticism’ ★★★ Nicholas Alder’s Road to Judecca, performed at Riverside Studios, is a daring theatrical experiment. The play interrogates the intersection of faith and performance, weaving Lutheran theology—specifically the four modalities of prayer (command, promise, words, faith)—into the fabric of an actor’s process. The result is a haunting, cerebral work that probes how belief can both elevate and ensnare, while questioning the ethics of charismatic authority and the human longing to belong. Alder—serving as playwright, director, and sole performer—delivers a tour de force in dual roles. As Toby, a fragile, desperate acolyte, he channels the existential despair of Samuel Beckett’s protagonists: hunched, twitchy, and vibrating with a nervous energy that borders on the transcendent. “I want to feel wanted by God, I want to feel wanted by you”. In stark contrast, his portrayal of Michael, the cult-like leader who manipulates Toby’s faith, is a masterclass in chilling charisma. Alder imbues Michael with a serpentine charm, quoting scripture to justify the cold-blooded murder of a beggar while seducing both Toby and the audience with magnetic, almost erotic authority. The echo of “Words without thoughts will never to heaven go” underscores Michael’s performative piety—a prayer stripped of meaning, weaponized for control. The minimalist set, bathed in chiaroscuro lighting, evokes a purgatorial void between ritual and reality, while his physicality—whether crawling in supplication or towering in dominance—transforms movement into prayer. The recursive structure mirrors the cyclical nature of dogma, asking: When does faith become coercion? When does belonging become bondage? Yet Road to Judecca is not without flaws. The pacing, deliberately slow to mirror liturgical ritual, often drags, testing the audience. Toby’s unwavering devotion, while thematically resonant, strains believability; his static emotional arc renders him more symbolic martyr than evolving human, muting the narrative’s dramatic urgency. Still, Alder’s electrifying presence compensates. His transitions between roles are seamless and haunting, culminating in scenes of visceral horror that expose the rot beneath Michael’s holy veneer. The tension between “illuminating and blinding” faith thrums with dread. A bold but uneven exploration of faith’s dark alchemy. Alder’s performances—particularly his monstrous, mesmerizing Michael—elevate the material, and the script’s intellectual rigor is admirable. Yet sluggish pacing and Toby’s stagnant arc blunt its emotional impact. Worth seeing for Alder’s daring and the lingering question: When does faith become a cage? For all its flaws, Road to Judecca leaves you haunted by its ghosts. Road to Judecca Written, Directed & Performed by Nicholas Alder In association with Voler Theatre Collective Riverside Studios 23rd March, London, UK https://riversidestudios.co.uk/see-and-do/road-to-judecca-166473/ Théátre Pixel 29th March, Paris, France https://www.billetweb.fr/road-to-judecca Ylioppilasteatteri 5th April, Helsinki, Finland https://www.ylioppilasteatteri.fi/road-to-judecca

‘Dysmorphia is a love story, but it is also a very real account of one soldier’s journey from PTSD to recovery’ ★★★★ ½ A two-hour drama is unusual in a pub theatre space, one hour being the vogue. Added to this is the slightly off-putting sensationalism of the company’s synopsis of the show ‘breathtaking whirlwind of a rollercoaster love story’, ‘will have you on the edge of your seat from start to finish’. It all sounds like bluster, after all it’s the audience who decide such things and not the writer. The rule is ‘show’ not ‘tell’ isn’t it? Fortunately, in deciding to give it a chance, I was not disappointed. Part of the reason for going to see it, was the opportunity to have a second chance to see actor Henry Charnock, having seen him in an hilarious production of Nosferatu and found his performance to be larger than life and completely riveting. Once again, I was not disappointed and rather pleased to see that he can reign in his loud stage presence when needed. Also, a pleasure to see him in a serious role and enjoy his versatility. Dysmorphia is a love story, but it is also a story about one soldier’s journey from PTSD to recovery. In addition, there’s a kind of Bridget Jones vibe, with a beautiful character arc, played excellently by writer phoenix Benham as the put upon best friend. Her side kick, her inner voice displaying her insecurities, is played by Charnock. Joey Maragakis plays the soldier with considerable authenticity. The flashbacks he suffers are brilliantly achieved by him, enhanced with the use of sound, gunfire and ominous music. Cameron Robinson, as the brother and Marsha Bevan, as the girlfriend make up the rest of the ensemble. It is excellent casting, each playing very distinct roles with exceptional ability. The individual characters development gives each of them some meaty lines to show off their talents. It’s a story which is given plenty of time to breathe, with fairly short scenes, disconcerting at first but quickly accepted as part of the form of the piece. The black box staging, a sofa and an electric piano which was rarely used but had a big payoff at the end of the show, proves adequate. Benham has a wonderful singing voice, and importantly, her song was an integral part of the show. That magic moment when she realises that she is ‘enough’. Despite the sensationalism of the company’s promotion, this is not a ‘sensational’ show, instead it feels like a very real account of one Officer’s struggle to overcome trauma and the effect it has on those surrounding him. It is a very positive story showing how he grows as a person, through his coming to terms with the death of his best friend who died on the battlefield. This is certainly not to glorify war, and neither is it really a tale about war, nor is it an anti-war drama, instead it is a tale about love. It isn’t a straight line and in the process the dynamics of the group go through a number of changes. It’s a very human story with character flaws and mistakes made. A very satisfying evening of theatre. BOX OFFICE Produced by Tatts ‘n’ Talent Theatre Company https://tattsntalent.com/ CAST: Phoenix Benham, ‘Luna’, Joey Maragakis, ‘Theo’ Henry Charnock, ‘I.V’ Cameron Robinson, ‘Charles’, Marsha Bevan, ‘Siobhan’.

‘Willoughby and McAllister give flawless performances as they sing and play a pair of guitars, showing real chemistry in the process.’ ★★★  It’s a setup straight out of a romcom; Zach (Peter Willoughby) is crashing out of his failing music career, fighting a thirst for alcohol as much as flight delays in a Los Angeles airport when he bumps into Angel (Emma McAllister), a woman who seems guided by fate to stop him boarding his plane. Romance blooms between the two as the show progresses and dark secrets are revealed, but there are a few bumps in the road of this feel-good journey. The show comes off a little overly-absorbed in Zach’s struggles to the exclusion of other areas of obvious interest, such as the background of McAllister’s character or even the world surrounding them both. This latter aspect certainly needs fleshing out, as although there are isolated examples of clever tech and set design the show is notably lacking in these areas. The overwhelming focus on Zach does the show a disservice primarily due to the fact that his character fails to charm; we are more often directly told that Zach is brilliant and wonderful than ever really shown it and his ‘struggles’ come across as whiny rather than compelling. A good example is near the end as his father tries to make amends for past wrongs, only for Zach to jump into a song decrying the older man’s past crimes, including laughing as he tried to learn to ride a bike as a child. It’s more a bruised ego than dark past. Thankfully the show has saving graces beyond these flaws. Opposite Willoughby, McAllister gives a star performance, delivering the best bits of the night with excellent comedic timing and heartfelt dramatic delivery. Though the script was apparently written well before her involvement, McAllister’s performance gives a good case for her character having a larger role in the play. Most importantly, the music of this musical has more hits than misses - both Willoughby and McAllister give flawless performances as they sing and play a pair of guitars, showing real chemistry in the process. The show’s tunes are are typically high-quality but do have a tendency to be quite similar within themselves and could have done with some additional variation in the mix – not surprising given the show’s overall feeling of two steps forward and one step back. All together then, it is a pleasant show that falls short of special – a little further refinement may well close that gap. Fallen Angels runs at The Drayton Arms Theatre from 25th March – 29th March 2025 Book, Music & Lyrics by Sara Eker and Giles Fernando Directed by Penny Gkritzapi Box office: https://www.thedraytonarmstheatre.co.uk/fallen-angel Produced by Paradigm Productions Reviewed by Harry Conway

'Willis commands the stage, and the four-person ensemble backs him solidly at every turn, however …‘ ★★★ Let me kick this off by saying three things. One, this show is beautiful to look at and listen to. It's a masterclass in how to weave together theatre and gig aesthetics. Two, every performer in this is excellent. Many an actor has been asked to sing a little, or play a bit of guitar on stage—but few are asked to emote their hearts out while also performing what is, essentially, a mini tribute concert of some of the last century's most beloved rock songs. Wilko's cast pulls this off with flair to spare. Three, I am probably the last person in the world qualified to give an opinion on 70s pub rock. The Southwark's auditorium was filled with original fans of Wilko Johnson, Dr. Feelgood and co., ones who demonstrated far more knowledge of the play's subject than me. The man on my left was pointing out when the bass line was too quiet; the man on my right was pleased that the show had finally changed its staging to a more concert-like style. Wilko's son Simon was in the audience, as was his former band mate Norman Watt-Roy, and both approved of how this production had chosen to tell the guitar legend's life story. However. Wilko: Love and Death and Rock 'n' Roll markets itself like this: ‘In 2012, Wilko Johnson (…) was told he had inoperable cancer and a year to live. Refusing all treatment, he decided to spend his last months living meaningfully: seeing the people, places and things which meant most to him during his remarkable life. Then, a miracle happened…’ That sounds like a play about a man learning to love life because he's facing death; the true story of someone who famously had a one-last-hurrah tour and was then forced to inform the world that he was not, after all, dying. That's a fascinating story—that's a character arc I'd love to see. That is not, however, quite what this production is. Although the play starts off with Wilko's cancer diagnosis, the first act uses this only as a reason to retell the rock legend's life before that point—death as a chance to summarise for the audience his school days, his busking, his first band, his marriage. We don't see him actually living with the diagnosis until the second act. That means the first half has a curiously tame, old-fashioned structure, leading us step-by-step through biographical highlights. It is, admittedly, a good excuse to play some of Wilko's greatest hits, to audience acclaim. But these performances clash strangely with the tone of the surrounding scenes, where director Dugald Bruce Lockhard leans heavily into tinkling music, romantic birdsong and softly rushing waves. It's the type of show where the lead couple—Johnson Willis as Wilko and Georgina Fairbanks as Irene—are supposedly madly in love, but never do more than sedately embrace under a flattering spotlight. It's also the type of show where the wife, long dead, appears to her husband in a hallucination and tells him sweetly not to worry about all the cheating, betrayal, neglect—he's a complex person, and that's why she loved him after all. That's a tough relationship message to get across, and it requires a defter hand than the one used here. The second act actually tackles Wilko's life while living with cancer, and it has more meat. Johnson Willis, fantastic as the titular character throughout, clearly relishes his role here, and pulls off some excellent monologues about life and death and Japanese spirituality. "I try to accept my insignificance,’ he sighs. ‘Not easy for a rock god.’ Willis commands the stage, and the four-person ensemble backs him solidly at every turn. But even here, the exploration of Wilko's psychological journey feels either perfunctory—reflections hacked off too soon—or on the nose and glib. ‘This is like A Christmas Carol,’ Wilko explains, before the ghost of his old bandmate shows up to teach him that he was inconsiderate and rude. Maybe it is. But the play's own pitch promised something darker and more interesting. Fans of Wilko Johnson as a musician have plenty to enjoy here. Audience members wishing for a psychological exploration may leave less satisfied. Box Office Photo credit: Mark Sepple Cast Wilko Johnson: Johnson Willis Irene Knight: Georgina Fairbanks Sparko: Georgina Fields Lee Brilleaux: Jon House Big Figure: David John Creative Team Director: Dugald Bruce Lockhard Writer: Jonathan Maitland Designer: Nicolai Hart-Hensen Lighting Designer: James Stokes Sound Designer: Simon Slater Producer: Denise Silvey Marketing & PR: Mobius Industries

‘The horrors you can never forget’ ★★★★ He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian:’ Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars. And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’ From William Shakespeare’s Henry V The reality is not what Henry V suggested. Old soldiers are too haunted by memories that will not go away to boast. War is hell, and it always has been. The only people to benefit are cynical leaders, who profit from the dreadful deaths of others, and who make up heroic myths to keep the poor bloody infantry in line. “I’m right behind you” the first world war general assures his soldiers in Blackadder. “About 40 miles behind” replies Blackadder, sotto voce. After Agincourt offers a very simple premise, as many of the best theatrical ideas do. Pistol is a minor character in Shakespeare’s Henry V, where he is presented as a drunken foul-mouthed braggart, whom the Welsh soldier Fluellen humiliates, forcing him to eat a raw leak to escape a beating. In this 75 minute monologue, Pistol goes home from the war, having seen things that no one should ever see, and having lost his friends, Falstaff, Nym and Bardolph, in France, and his wife, Mistress Nell Quickly, in England. Nell, he tells us, died of the pox, “an occupational hazard”, for like many women of the time, Nell partly earned her bread and his beer by selling her body. But where Shakespeare used him only as a foil for others, and is content to have him as a laughing stock, Peter Mottley makes him the centre of his play, and wants to understand him and make us care about him. Henry V, before he was king, was a friend and drinking companion to them all. Shakespeare presents Henry’s decision to have Nym and Bardolph hanged for looting a church as a decisive and even heroic rejection of his tumultuous youth. Mottley’s Pistol sees it as a betrayal, and you can hardly blame him. Henry has already killed Falstaff by rejecting him – “I know you not, old man” – and now he hangs two more old friends who didn’t even mean to loot the church – they went in to pray, and then gave way to temptation, stealing a couple of trinkets that turned out to be almost valueless. These were the friends of Henry’s youth. He had drunk with them, accepted their friendship, enjoyed their company, learned about life from them, and “he was not above giving Nell a good seeing to upstairs” either. Yet “he sat in his best armour and gave the order for two of his mates to have the life choked out of them.” He tells his soldiers “For he today who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother” and Pistol says bitterly: “Tell that to Bardolph and Nym.” Those who benefit from war are not those who fight it. Henry V benefits. Vladimir Putin benefits. For Pistol, for the poor Russian soldiers sent to try to conquer Ukraine, there is nothing but misery, and either death or a legacy of terrible memories that never go away. This is a tremendous play, full of dreadful images of war and sudden flashes of laugh-out-loud humour. At the centre of it, actor Gareth David Lloyd gives us a Pistol whom we believe in and whom we care about, with all his human failings, in a bar, drunk, trying unsuccessfully to drown his sorrows. Lloyd’s performance is magnificent. If I had to nitpick, I would say that he shouts a little bit too often and a little bit too loudly – sometimes, in this tiny theatre, it threatens to break the magic. If you live within striking distance of Kentish Town, forget the glitzy and expensive west end for an evening - there is a moving, original, absorbing theatrical experience on your doorstep, and it will cost you a fraction of what the West End will set you back. Box Office After Agincourt The Lion & Unicorn Theatre until 5 April 2025 SHOW INFORMATION: WRITTEN BY: Peter Mottley DIRECTED BY: Paul Olding OTHER CREATIVES: Gareth David-Lloyd (Pistol) RUNNING TIME: 75 Mins (No Interval) SOCIAL MEDIA: @TheCrookedBillets