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Luckily, the monkey didn't attend the opening night, which saw the distinguished
theatre owner and producer publicly deny short-changing his electricity meter...
The play itself is clearly not written by an English person. Had it been, the
parents would have been meeting at the funeral of both sons rather than just to
discuss a little light playground incident in which teeth were broken (yes, the
monkey's schooldays make such things relative - the kid's limbs were intact /
senses unimpaired, what more do they want?).
Anyway, the conversation takes place between the interested and sometimes
disinterested parties, uninterrupted for ninety minutes. Allegiances and
perspectives change and the whole proves as always that teleplay style works
much better in a theatre.
Ken Stott gets the best of the black humour, Ralph Fiennes the perspective
(and easily the least likeable / most compelling character), Janet McTeer the
easily recognised liberal on short fuse and Tamsin Greig the power neurosis.
Each contributes immeasurably to what could be in other hands a stale situation.
Performances make up for any shortcoming in the play and make this worth the
struggle for a ticket.
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