Wedding Day at the Cro-Magnons
Soho
The Internationalist
Gate
The Black and White Ball
King’s Head
You can tell when a culture has lost its way because it starts handing out awards. There’s a small club of annual prizes that have some legitimacy. Oscar, Bafta, Booker, Olivier, Nobel — all provide worthwhile verdicts on the disciplines they attach themselves to. But adding to their number cheapens the entire enterprise. Like prophets and fire drills, the more awards there are the more they get ignored. Little surprise, then, that the Lebanese playwright Wajdi Mouawad has collected so many trophies that he has to scramble over heaped ramparts of silverware every time he leaves the house. Aged 34, he was granted a lifetime achievement award by some august French body that apparently bungs out gongs with its eyes blindfold, a bit like pinning the tail on the donkey.
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