Harley Granville Barker’s play (written 1906; refused a licence because it alluded to abortion; revised 1927; premièred 1936) is more to be admired than enjoyed. Silkily incendiary at the time, its mordant portrayal of political pragmatism now seems implausibly cautious and principled compared to our current crop, of whatever shade. It also relies on a restrained mode of staging which, whilst true to the script and the characters, is inimical to a sufficient sense of drama, especially in a 900-seat venue such as the Lyttelton. (Its last London revival in 2008 worked much better in the Almeida, with barely a third of the capacity.)

Idealistic independent MP Henry Trebell is invited on board by a new Conservative government to pilot its proposed bill to disestablish the Church of England. He is brought down not by the forces of antidisestablishmentarianism (sorry, couldn’t resist using it properly) but by the consequences of a loveless affair: his married mistress, pregnant by him, dies after a botched “criminal operation”, and the party grandees (virtually all of whom seem to look like Neville Chamberlain) meet to decide whether Trebell can be saved by hushing the matter up at inquest. This scene is the bitter core of the play (also the antithesis of the tedious first-act salon scene), and the only one in which male characters get to express themselves with any passion or intensity. This has previously been the preserve of Amy, Trebell’s lover: Olivia Williams cast appealingly against type, but having to play a little too immature and shrill.

Charles Edwards is shrewdly cast (when is he not an asset to a production?), and also against his natural grain: here his trademark urbanity is turned brusque and dispassionate as Trebell cares about nothing other than his parliamentary work – his skills and efforts are, in his view at least, the “waste” of the title. Director Roger Michell keeps matters tightly buttoned up: even Hildegard Bechtler’s stage set is adorned by nothing bar a variety of wooden tables and chairs, and a succession of monochrome rectangular slabs moving across to “wipe” the action between scenes. This approach finds the right atmosphere for the words and events portrayed, but unfortunately it’s a theatrically arid, un-animated atmosphere.

Written for the Financial Times.