The Constituent

(seen at the afternoon performance on 29th June 2024)

Matthew Warchus is obviously innocent of any accusation of placing a bet on election dates, because he scheduled this run many months ago. The timing turned out to be entirely fortuitous, the zeitgeist an extra marketing tool to sell the play.

Sadly, rather like the manifestos of every single party standing in its particular constituency, nothing much about this work appealed even a little to the monkey.

Jo Penhall is an experienced writer. Unfortunately, he either appears not to know the difference between “availed of the situation” and “appraised,” or the character speaking the line – a cliched Detective Constable (incidentally wearing full uniform for no good reason at one point) - may have had a slip of the tongue.

If it were for characterisation, then we had got the message an hour ago; so maybe he really had just fallen foul of the sloppy performance this afternoon.

If so, Zachary Hart would join his co-stars James Corden and Anna Maxwell Martin in a “first preview” extravaganza of tripping over lines and “Noises Off” dodgy sound cues which bedevilled it. A phone on one side of the stage that rings from the other is particularly amusing... if it is Cornley Polytechnic. The Old Vic, not so much.

Rob Howell produces a simple stage area with desk in the middle, audience on two sides like the House of Commons. No matter which side you are on, this play is a meeting between commoner and elected representative.

If the scene-changes had been shorter, the effectiveness of the staging would have increased considerably. Several minutes to move an exercise bike is something that could have vanished in preview, surely?

Matthew Warchus for the most part is content to let his leading man bellow at his leading lady, who in turn spouts well-observed morally bankrupt political solicitudes. Only late in the play does she reveal that despite her denials she actually can do something. 

Since her bovine approach has already wrecked a life, it is a hapless twist. With common sense dictating that she could have done what she did on first meeting, the entire structure is fatally weakened.

With neither Corden as the supplicant nor Maxwell Martin having much to do, at least Hugh Vanstone made sure we could see them. A particularly impressive spotlighting effect made a horrifically childish “freeze in person to represent freezing on a video call” sequence tolerable. Warchus probably kept it in just for the lighting. 

The jumps in time and place seemed ill-conceived, the denouement a rehash of every ITV 9pm summer four-part drama series (the ones not deemed good enough to go out October to March). The only blows struck are physical, and as an exploration of why the public is becoming more violent towards its ruling classes it is an abject failure. 

If the best Penhall can come up with is that personal struggles with failed marriage and PTSD are the reasons, without digging any deeper, we can only wonder what his first draft must have been like.

Without any real development of character or enlightenment within the plot, undercooked performances and direction, no constituent ingredient is any encouragement to visit this surgery.