This is London Magazine March Edition 2026 - Flipbook - Page 26
MAN AND BOY National Theatre
The scene opens and we are with a
young couple rising from bed (we assume,
since the set consists of three Formicatopped tables and a couple of peripheral
desk chairs.) A big, wooden wireless gives
out the news: the merger of two of the
largest electrical companies of the 1930s
will not now take place, with potentially dire
consequences for both Wall Street and
ordinary working Americans.
The impending financial disaster turns
personal when the architect of the deal –
famous financier and wealthy businessman
Gregor Antonescu – turns up at the young
couple’s door. He, apparently, is the
estranged father of the young man, Basil, a
Romanian turned American quite
determined to forget his past.
Terence Rattigan’s play has not been
performed in London since 2005, but
Anthony Lau’s production for the National
seems determined to make up for this
oversight. Perhaps as a counterpoint to
Rattigan’s conservative emotionality, the
design leans towards cinematic effect. A
huge, illuminated screen bearing the
names of the actors looks like a theatre
Photos: Manuel Harlan
26
frontage on 1930’s Broadway. Early movie
music – like the breathless orchestrations
highlighting the plight of damsels in
distress or runaway horses – injects some
sense of drama when the dialogue sounds
a little flat.
Similarly, the stripping back of any neorealist props such as period furniture is
compensated by an athletic interpretation of
the script. Ben Daniel’s Gregor is a sort of
gecko in a suit - one which is capable of
dancing on tables. Gregor is ‘the world’s
greatest monopoly capitalist’, whatever that
is. (Later, it turns out to mean ‘swindler’.)
He is a despot to his family, incapable of
feeling love but with a jaw always mobile.
He spouts whole pages of accounts. He
charms and wheedles. I would not have
been surprised to see a long tongue dart
out from that face and swallow up his
interlocutors.
Laurie Kynaston as the son is naturally
overshadowed. He is ‘soft’ as his father
always said and his smile, when it appears,
is immensely endearing. For a moment,
towards the end of Act II, we understand
his deeply buried love and admiration for
the father he claims to hate.
The rest of the play is less engaging.
The manipulative use to which Gregor puts
his knowledge of the business rival’s
homosexuality is interesting. There are
even muted echoes of the Epstein scandal.
But, are we shocked when the boy calls
Gregor ‘nothing’ at the end of Act I? Even
the dramatic music and lighting in this
show cannot make this into a gripping
crisis.
Gregor’s wife (Isabella Laughland in
blond wig and fur coat) appears in order to
assure him that she wishes to be a ‘real
wife’, then leaves in disgust when he falls
ill, a plot point which is neither surprising
nor entertaining. Gregor works himself into
a frenzy of lies and hidden threats in his
attempt to resurrect the business merger.
It is exhausting to watch, but will perhaps
please those in the financial sector
reflecting on how far the world banking
system has come since those days.
What persists is the universality of the
rich sociopath. Rattigan shows us on stage
what has always been taught from the
pulpit: ‘For what shall it profit a man, if he
shall gain the whole world, and lose his
own soul?’
Sue Webster
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