“He shows absolutely no mercy for the English language. His stresses and pronunciation are so murderous, it’s as if he is conducting a personal vendetta against the spoken word. If the script, a stupendously dull mismatch of gore, conspiracy and high romanticism, is delivered with all the animation of the speaking clock, the Mercy Man’s arms make up for it. They are like demented windmills. When he says “me” or “I”, he points at himself; when he says the word “think”, he points at his head. Presumably to check that it’s still there.”
Fabulous stuff. Read the review here.
“Jason Charles takes as his theme a tangle of modern-day gay relationships and manages, in an eye-watering running time of three hours, to offer barely one original thought or genuine sentiment… Jake, Luke, Leo, Mach, Pip and Ralph behave in ways that only ring true if you’re a character in a badly-written play, with an infuriating habit of ending sentences on upward inflections.”
Wonderful! We look forward to welcoming Ms Mountford to the club shortly.
And while we’re on the topic of punches not pulled, check out John Morrison’s post about the Hampstead Theatre on the Guardian’s blog today. We couldn’t agree more. Marvellous.