Review Roundup: Almeida Theatre's INK

Fleet Street. 1969. The Sun rises. James Graham's ruthless, red-topped new play Ink leads with the birth of this country's most influential newspaper - when a young and rebellious Rupert Murdoch asked the impossible and launched its first editor's quest, against all odds, to give the people what they want.

Writer James Graham (This House) makes his Almeida debut with this World Premiere directed by Rupert Goold. Starring Bertie Carvel, Richard Coyle, Pearl Chanda, and more, Ink plays at the Almeida Theatre now through 5 August.

Let's see what the critics had to say...

Marianka Swain, BroadwayWorld: Slick, lively and asking serious questions about the responsibility of the press, and whether we, the public, should demand more from it, Graham proves that it's entirely possible to simultaneously inform, educate and entertain.

Matt Wolf, New York Times: Those expecting some sort of darkly satirical broadside borne out of outrage can think again. From our first glimpse of the lanky Bertie Carvel as Murdoch, the renegade newcomer to British shores, he remains the most compelling figure in the room. "I just want something," Murdoch says, pausing before finishing his sentence, "loud." That's to say, a newspaper that will make noise.

Susannah Clapp, The Guardian: Is Ink indelible? Not really. Is it the talk of the theatrical week? Absolutely. For true and for trivial reasons. It is written by James Graham. It is directed by Rupert Goold, whose theatrical pizzazz could make Theresa May look as if she were rollerskating. It has in the rise of Rupert Murdoch a cracking subject. And - this is the aspect that gets the play all over the papers - it is about the importance or not of journalists, who love seeing themselves centre stage and writing about it. Especially when there is the possibility of spotting a gargoyle version of their/our colleagues. Few things are sweeter than recognition entwined with repudiation. On press night the Almeida was heaving with hacks.

Dominic Cavendish, The Telegraph: The script contains barely a dull line, and Rupert Goold - directing the finest thing at the Almeida since King Charles III - ensures there's no let-up in interest or intrigue even as the hacks yak-i-di-yak. There's a sinuous quality to the ensemble work, with Swinging Sixties couplings in the noirish shadows and outbreaks of tongue-in-cheek cabaret too. The production also revels in the hallowed sound of those old presses pounding away, the men (it was mainly men, albeit with salty dashes of increasingly forthright women) going into mock-tribal dances of ecstasy before their all-powerful god. Once again finding a play for today in what looked like yesterday's news, Graham has surely penned a super, soaraway smash.

Andrzej Lukowski, Time Out London: Located deep in the constituency of that nemesis of the white van man Emily Thornberry, Islington's hip Almeida Theatre is not what you'd call classic Sunnewspaper territory. But top political playwright James Graham has always striven to be non-partisan. And his Almeida debut is an epic about the founding of the modern Sunthat may discomfit a liberal audience with its sympathetic, even romantic depiction of the way in which a band of ragtag journalistic rejects created the country's biggest-selling newspaper.

Holly Williams, The Independent: Ink shows how rapidly ambition can corrupt - and how Lamb and Murdoch's relentless stoking of appetites for smut, scandal and sensation in exchange for sales changed the landscape of the British media forever. Graham and Goold wrap all this up in a damn good story, Told Well.

Matt Trueman, Variety: Like David Hare before him, playwright James Graham - whose play "Privacy" ran Off Broadway last season with Daniel Radcliffe - goes digging for drama in Britain's national institutions. "Ink" does for this country's popular press what Graham's "This House" did for parliamentary procedure, but it's more than a mere explainer. In charting the rise of The Sunand that of its owner Rupert Murdoch, Graham harks back to a bygone era - both for the press and for Britain. It makes for a ripping yarn, motored by a majestic performance from Bertie Carvel as the media mogul himself.

Ann Treneman, The Times: At first, there are just two men standing in darkness, lights shining on them. One is Rupert Murdoch, aged 38, lean and slightly hunched. "OK, you listening?" he growls. A journalist by the name of Larry Lamb nods. "Good, 'cause I want to tell you a story," says Murdoch. "And it's true. That's what makes it a good f***ing story, right, 'cause all the best stories are true. You don't mind me swearing, do you? The odd curse, I should have asked."

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

To post a comment, you must register and login.