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Tom Stoppard’s wittily layered drama about truth in relationships and art won Best Play at the Evening Standard Awards in 1982. Though some of the social attitudes and trappings show their vintage – male chauvinism and trimphones, anyone? – the script’s intelligence and passion shine through. Max Webster’s elegant production even manages a deft topspin of modernity.
James McArdle, often a gruff and husky presence, is a revelation here as the Stoppard-esque playwright Henry, prone to snobbery and lofty mansplaining while also dithering over his populist song choices for Desert Island Discs and hacking out screenplays to make alimony. Bel Powley is terrific as Annie, the younger actress who arrests his heart and attention. In a wordy drama, both are surprisingly physical: he shimmying in socked feet to Da Do Ron Ron Ron, she all eloquent elbows and ankles, seductive and exasperated.
