Man and Boy

by Terence Rattigan

seen at the National Theatre (Dorfman) on 28 February 2026

Anthony Lau directs this revival of Terence Rattigan's 1963 play Man and Boy with Ben Daniels as Gregor Antonescu, Laurie Kynaston as Basil Anthony (actually Gregor's son Vassili), Phoebe Campbell as Carol Penn (Basil's girlfriend), Malcolm Sinclair as the financier Mark Herries, Nick Fletcher as Sven Johnson (Gregor's assistant), Leo Wan as David Beeston (Mark Herries's accountant) and Isabella Laughland as Countess Antonescu (Gregor's wife).

Basil and Carol, in a not entirely satisfying relationship, are unexpectedly interrupted by the arrival of Basil's estranged father; his machinations turn out to be the primary focus of the play, presented here in an extraordinary production designed by Georgia Lowe. Rattigan's reputation for stolid settings (here, of a 1930s New York apartment) is blown away, replaced by an almost bare stage with a billiards-green baize carpet and functional tables and chairs such as one might find in a community hall. Furthermore the theatre has been reconfigured so that the stage is in the middle with banks of seats on either side. The acting style is also transformed. Gregor in particular slinks and prowls like a wild, not to say feral, animal, moving with a catlike grace that is at times extremely menacing. The tables are pushed and pulled around the stage and frequently mounted by one or more characters in moments of acute emotional stress.

Watching all this as the unsavoury plot unfolds - Gregor is shamelessly prepared to pimp his son out to a financier as a bribe to forestall the collapse of a business merger threatened because the accountant Beeston has found suspicious transactions in the Antonescu empire - is an intoxicating experience. The entrapment of Mark Herries, bamboozled by fast talking and fatefully corrupted by the tantalising offer of a young man's services (with no idea that Basil is related to Gregor), is a horrifying spectacle, while the level of exploitation involved seems too grotesque for the somewhat naive Basil to grasp.

But the irrepressible Gregor can after all be crushed: momentarily by Basil's excoriating put-down, and more fatefully by the unravelling of his business dealings (though not directly the affair elaborated in the first half of the play). As the background to Gregor's personality and his conflicted attitude to Basil becomes clearer we are on the more familiar Rattigan territory of strained relationships and family dysfunction. The mesmerising intensity of the first half perhaps slackens, and Basil's quixotic attempts to save his father despite his obvious flaws (because it is "the system" that is at fault, as Basil the good socialist maintains) is perhaps not entirely convincing. 

Ben Daniels puts in a superb performance as Gregor, ably matched by the rest of the cast whom he manipulates with consummate ease while his star is in the ascendant. When his world collapses his anguish is equally overblown; we may not be sympathetic after being exposed to his ruthlessness, but it ids easy to recognise his nihilism as the obverse of his frenetic energy.

 All in all this revival only serves to enhance Rattigan's reputation as a first-rate dramatist. 

Spring Awakening

by Steven Sater with music by Douglas Sheik based on Frank Wedekind's play

seen at the Almeida Theatre on 16 December 2021

Frank Wedekind's controversial 1891 play Frühlings Erwachen is the basis for this musical from 2006 now revived at the Almeida by Rupert Goold with a cast of thirteen excellent young actors headed by Laurie Kynaston as Melchior, Stuart Thompson as Moritz and Amara Okereke as Wendla, with two older actors (Catherine Cusack and Mark Lockyer) taking all the adult parts. 

The usual high-spirited depiction of teenagers favoured by Broadway musicals here meets a sobering and at times shocking exposition of the cruelties of late nineteenth century bourgeois life, in which the suffocating strictures of adult prejudice, unwillingness to communicate, and fateful self-interest combine to quench the spirits and in some cases the lives of young people hopelessly out of their depth and yet eager to explore their world and make it better. 

Miriam Buether's set is a series of steep steps with large perspex doors at the top near the bare bricks at the back of the Almeida stage. The effect is of groups of teenagers lounging on the tiers of a school sportsground, or studying in a classroom resembling a lecture hall, though other scenes (domestic interiors, countryside ramblings, visits to a cemetery) are equally well accommodated. The set also lends itself to snappy choreography by Lynne Page, as the young people vent their frustrations or express their joys; there is a particularly clever song in which the boys wonder about 'all that's known' to the background beat of Latin recitation.

The high spirits, the chafing at ignorance (particularly of sexual matters), the crushing burden of parental expectation, are all refracted through the songs, but there is no escaping the seriousness of the themes running through this piece. While the adults may be presented as caricatures, and thus dangerously near to figures of fun, their baleful influence causes mayhem and destruction in young lives. Wendle, after begging her mother to admit that storks do not bring babies, still knows nothing about the matter when she finally embraces Melchior. He in turn has written an essay to explain the facts of life to the insecure Moritz, which is later used as evidence of his depravity - but clearly he also is not really aware of the possible consequences of his actions until it is too late. These vignettes help to indicate the wider rottenness in a society in which hypocrisy breeds contempt and condemnation; the closeness of the teenage friends is no protection aganist the forces arraigned against them, while their ignorance can lead them into frightening experiments. The scene in which Wendle asks Melchior to hurt her so that she can try to understand how a friend suffering from parental abuse might feel is truly horrifying to witness.

An anthem to a 'purple summer' concludes the play, something which in a less fraught musical would be completely uplifting and affirmative. In this milieu there can only be cautious optimism, since there is no sign within the play that the adults can be seriously confronted or that society will show any kindness to those whom it deems are failures. 

It's an exciting production of a thought provoking play.

The Son

by Florian Zeller

seen at the Kiln Theatre on 13 March 2019

Michael Longhurst directs Laurie Kynaston as the teenage Nicolas, Amanda Abbingdon as his mother Anne, John Light as his father Pierre, Amaka Okafor as his stepmother Sofia, Martin Turner as a doctor and Oseloka Obi as a nurse in Christpoher Hampton's transaltion of Florian Zeller's nw play, seen as part of a triptych with The Father (reviewed in October 2015) and The Mother (not seen).

The Kiln has a totally exposed stage the width of its auditorium, so upon entering the audience sees immediately a plain space with panelled white walls (somehow looking French; designed by Lizzie Clachan), a black upholstered sofa in the middle, a small writing desk and chair to one side, and a large suspended grey bag on the other side. Eventually Nicolas appears and begins to write obsessively one the wall panel immediately above the writing desk; or else he paces round the room.