The Real Thing West End Reviews

Symposiums (or symposia, as the Pedants’ Pedant, Henry, would no doubt instantly inform me from beneath his half-hearted mullet) are the places to explore ideas about writing. Stages should be reserved for characters we believe in, in whom we can i...

Symposiums (or symposia, as the Pedants’ Pedant, Henry, would no doubt instantly inform me from beneath his half-hearted mullet) are the places to explore ideas about writing. Stages should be reserved for characters we believe in, in whom we can invest hopes and fears, maybe even grow to like - after all, we’re lumped together for two and a half hours, so let’s get along hey? Such thoughts filled my head, as the play I witnessed seemed barely worthy of praise, never mind the avalanche of plaudits that have come its way since its premiere 42 years ago and consequent to its many revivals since. Had I missed something? In pooh-poohing the assessments of so many fine judges, was I just being a bear of very little brain? Or had this soapy tale (albeit with longer words, but almost as much shouting) merely outlived its utility? Probably a bit of all three.

Artfully directed by Max Webster, with wonderful long-shadowed lighting by Richard Howell and a poppy soundtrack, the drama’s artifice is playfully exposed, maybe even sent up, with dancing stagehands bringing choreographed comedy and a light meta ...

Artfully directed by Max Webster, with wonderful long-shadowed lighting by Richard Howell and a poppy soundtrack, the drama’s artifice is playfully exposed, maybe even sent up, with dancing stagehands bringing choreographed comedy and a light meta touch.

What a pleasure to have Tom Stoppard’s brilliantly inventive 1982 Tony-winning play The Real Thing back in London. Even better, both its formal daring and its frank, subversive portrait of complicated relationships are thoughtfully handled in Max W...

What a pleasure to have Tom Stoppard’s brilliantly inventive 1982 Tony-winning play The Real Thing back in London. Even better, both its formal daring and its frank, subversive portrait of complicated relationships are thoughtfully handled in Max Webster’s stylish and strikingly cast revival.

The longer it goes on, the more this production finds a plangent tone where the witty, the wise and the wounded are forever colliding. “No, it was about self-knowledge through pain,” the humbled Henry chides when his equally outspoken daughter ac...

The longer it goes on, the more this production finds a plangent tone where the witty, the wise and the wounded are forever colliding. “No, it was about self-knowledge through pain,” the humbled Henry chides when his equally outspoken daughter accuses him of having written just another story of jiggery-pokery among the architect classes. Here, as elsewhere in this invigorating evening, many a true word is spoken in jest.

The Real Thing is a palimpsest of a play that is so rich that I wanted to go straight back to the text and savour the language on the page as well as the stage. The riches are too many and complex to be garnered in one viewing, enjoyable as that was ...

The Real Thing is a palimpsest of a play that is so rich that I wanted to go straight back to the text and savour the language on the page as well as the stage. The riches are too many and complex to be garnered in one viewing, enjoyable as that was last night. So, it’s a real joy to see this play. I will definitely go back for a second viewing.