Review: THE MAIDS, Donmar Warehouse

An exhilarating new satire on social media, class and how we live in unreal worlds bursts onto the Donmar stage in a frenzy of must-see vigour.

Writer/director Kip Williams – who made his West End debut with Olivier and Tony award-winning The Picture of Dorian Gray, starring Succession's Sarah Snook – returns with his bang up-to-date adaptation of Jean Genet's play based on sisters Christine and Lea Papin, who murdered their employer and her daughter in 1933.

First seen in Paris in 1947, the Institute of Contemporary Arts performed the play five years later at Notting Hill Gate's Mercury Theatre before transferring to the Royal Court. A latter performance in 1973 at Greenwich Theatre featured Vivien Merchant, Glenda Jackson and Susannah Yorke. In 1987 Mark Rylance played Madam in the Royal Shakespeare Company's version and Jamie Lloyd's 2016 interpretation starred Laura Carmichael as Mistress ­– a far cry from tame Edith Crawley in Downton Abbey.

This modern tale of two maids obsessively loving their influencer boss with millions of followers, while also resenting and hating her, is a clever, on-the-nose parable for today where we fetishise celebrities to the degree we believe they are actually our friends.

Williams kicks off with pink-gloved maids Claire and Solange, who are also sisters, role-playing a fantasy Madam-servant game in their boss's luxurious white wall-to-wall carpeted bedroom stuffed with ostentatious flowers and tall wardrobe doors with mirrors and shiny surfaces (terrific set design by Rosanna Vize).

Lydia Wilson's (King Charles III, Black Mirror) excellent as Claire taking her turn as stern and controlling Madam. There's plenty of dark humour and menace as she berates poor Solange. "Whatever that face is make it stop." "My tea is cold. You hate me, don't you." "You need to consider getting work done, Claire – consider lipo." "I am a god while you grovel at my feet." Her S&M-like ranting that includes hints of actual murder is spoken into an iPhone that's transmitted onto screens in the mirrored doors to great effect.

Phia Saban's first-rate as Solange in a high energy performance, striking back with "You may be perfect, but I'm the maid". She peeps out from behind a white diaphanous curtain surrounding the stage (I found this metaphorical curtain device annoying, to be honest, as we couldn't see the action) and refers to the crowd out front that are vultures (a reference to the paparazzi) before becoming Claire's sister again.

Then the real Madam – a sassy portrayal from Yerin Ha (Bridgerton, Dune) – returns home and the scenario's replayed, this time for real, with Madam hurling flowers around. "They're actually gauche, no one wants pink hydrangeas these days." She tries on various outfits – black bra and shorts, beaded and jewelled neckpiece, flowing flowered dress – like a spoilt teenager (hats off to costume designer Marg Horwell).

Madam's upset her boyfriend's being questioned at the police station, but she's standing by her man. She asks Solange to fetch her crucifix. She's hilariously over the top, asking what her new narrative should be. "I'll carry his cross from station to station, to Guantanamo. I don't even know where this is." 

Williams leaves us with plenty of pertinent themes to mull over, choreographed in a flurry of applying make-up and trying on new clothes to take on new personalities and possibilities. Most of this is conveyed on-screen by video designer Zakk Hein with the embellishment of large Kardashian-esque lips and other technical devices that reflect our times. Music from DJ Walde and sound design by Dan Balfour sets the tone with anything from Tchaikovsky's "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" to Mozart's "Requiem".

Servants used to live through our boss's lives and now we're living through the lives of celebrities such as Taylor Swift. We rush out to buy clothes we see stars wearing at red carpet events. Everyone thinks they can have that kind of luxe life, but of course they can't escape from humdrum reality.

Williams' The Maids runs for one hour and forty-five minutes with no interval. It's so fast-paced it doesn't flag. However, at times I wish the action slowed down once in a while to let the audience breathe and reflect. But this quibble doesn't dent what's a hugely strong play with a moving denouement where no one escapes from a spiral of love and hate in a fantasy social media world.

The Maids runs at The Donmar Warehouse until 29 November