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Lost in translation

Lloyd Evans

Wednesday, 26th March 2008

A Couple of Poor, Polish-Speaking Romanians
Soho Theatre

The Man Who Had All the Luck
Donmar Warehouse

David’s fate contrasts painfully with the destiny of his brother Amos. Their obsessive weakling father has groomed Amos for sporting greatness by training him to pitch ball in their basement. You feel certain Amos will never reach the major leagues. Then a scout from Detroit shows up to observe him in a big local game. Now you feel certain he’ll play badly. He plays brilliantly. Now you feel certain he’ll be signed up. The scout disappears. Now you feel certain Amos has lost his chance. The scout reappears and tells him he’s a terrific pitcher. But will he sign him or not? The play constantly buffets you like this, harries and cajoles you, just the way life does. I’ve never spent such an exhilarating and exhausting night in a theatre. During the whole of the second act I was in a state of agonised suspense, hoping cruelly that David’s luck would expire, that disaster would engulf him, that he’d stop tempting fate with unwise investments, that he’d be freed at last from Amos’s corrosive envy. Sean Holmes’s production of this grand and extraordinary tragedy merits the highest praise in every department. Paul Wills’s set, made of nothing more exciting than horizontal wooden slats, manages to represent both the gimcrack garage of the opening half and the sumptuous family home of the second. How? The wooden slats have a chameleon quality and take on the character of their surroundings. A simple lighting change transforms the cheap glare of the garage into the mansion’s golden glow. A rug and some other nice fittings complete the luxurious look. Lovely work. It’s so cosy and inviting you want to hop up on stage and start baking cookies. The show goes on a national tour in April and it surely deserves a run in the West End. This autumn, perhaps. I’d put money on it. So would David. And we’d both win.