We aesthetes on the arts pages are not
always as well versed as we might be in the goings-on covered elsewhere
in the
FT. However, I’m
fairly certain that selling a business on a false prospectus is a
no-no, and that seems to be what has been done with Steve Thompson’s
third play. At the very least, it has been sold long, as “a fresh take
on the financial crisis”. In fact, this 90-minute comedy-drama set in
the media department of a City trading house has barely the faintest
whiff of crunching credit about it.
True, there are a couple of passing references to the market “topping”,
but there is no indication of any subsequent plunge. True, too, traders
are shown short-selling and rumour-mongering for their own ends, but
without any implication that such activity was contributing to a global
collapse. And true a third time, we see savagery in job losses, but
only as part of the corporate Darwinism which holds that you are only
as good as your last trade and acts swiftly to cull the weak, no
different from the sales competition in Mamet’s
Glengarry Glen Ross. One character
remarks in the first scene that “This is a raging bull market”… not
something that could plausibly have been said in recent memory, even
during sexual role-play as here. A gag about the West End musical of
Lord Of The Rings, which closed six
months ago, further suggests that Thompson’s play has been around some
little while, and is more the beneficiary of events than a work of
foresight and topicality.
OK, that’s what the play is not. What it
is is as razor-sharp as Thompson’s
previous works,
Damages, set
in a tabloid newsroom and
Whipping
It Up, in a parliamentary whips’ office. He is supremely adept
at peopling these dog-eat-dog environments with plausible dogs (and
bitches), at portraying stratagems and counter-stratagems with relish,
at demarcating the limits of personal loyalties and finding them pretty
bloody paltry. So it is here, with one partial exception. Jess (Phoebe
Waller-Bridge), the only woman we see in the department, is to some
extent the moral centre of the play. She is not a pleasant character,
much given to scathing condescension, but she constitutes our channel
between her colleagues: Donny, an archetypal predatory City wide-boy,
and “Spoon” (as in silver), the newly recruited graduate who rapidly
shows his readiness to play as dirty as Donny. A fourth trader, PJ
(Nicolas Tennant in fine vexed form), falls by the wayside; when his
wife inquires, on bonus day, whether they will be holidaying in
Barbados or Bournemouth, he sheepishly replies, “Bruges.”
Andrew Scott’s Donny is a loathsome git, which is to say an excellent
performance; recent drama-school graduate Christian Roe as Spoon
perhaps relies a little too much on his own freshness to stand for the
faux-innocence of his character. The ending, both in the office and
later between Donny and his young son, is a little confected and
ambiguously sentimental after our exposure to a milieu in which even
honesty is a weapon, in the form of threats to shop colleagues to the
bank’s compliance office. Roxana Silbert once again directs with pace
and verve, but ultimately the play is a broadside at City traders in
general rather than a particular, up-to-the-moment bill of indictment.
Written for the Financial
Times.