Lloyd Evans Lloyd Evans

Posh people move house

Plus: a love song to Hamilton at the Menier Chocolate Factory that knows that mimicry, like cyanide, is best in small doses

issue 01 September 2018

Non-stop chatterbox and mystifyingly revered fabricator of sub-Chekovian paddywhackery, Brian Friel has received another production at the Donmar. His play Aristocrats cadges shamelessly from Three Sisters and The Cherry Orchard. The setting is a crumbling mansion in Donegal occupied by four adult members of the O’Donnell clan (three girls, one boy), who idle around the place waiting for Dad to clock out so they can get their mitts on the bricks.

Lindsey Turner’s production is curiously stripped of ornament. The characters are assembled on a lime-green patio, suggestive of mown grass, which is surmounted by a white frame with the dimensions of the goalposts at Wembley. To represent the mansion and its contents, two props are used: a titchy Edwardian telephone and a little doll’s house containing matchstick chairs and tables which the characters extract and discuss whenever their forebears’ belongings are mentioned in the script. The whole thing feels like a cheap studio version of a show that will be properly mounted once the money arrives.

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