A show for politicians: John Gabriel Borkman, at the Bridge Theatre, reviewed

Clunk, clunk, clunk. John Gabriel Borkman opens with the obsessive footfalls of a disgraced banker as he prowls the attic of a shabby townhouse. On a beaten-up sofa lies Gunhild, his estranged wife, who guzzles Coke and watches TV game shows. The whole place stinks of stagnation and failure. The reclusive Borkman was once the country’s best-known banker until envious colleagues accused him of embezzlement and got him sent to jail for five years. After his release, he began a life of self-destructive solitude. The family are more riven with feuds than the royals. Gunhild loathes her twin sister, Ella, while Borkman blames both women for his downfall. His one hope, his son Erhart, openly shuns him and prefers the company of a sexy local seductress.

The character of Borkman repels and fascinates. He could be Kevin Spacey, Robert Maxwell, Prince Andrew or Bernie Madoff. He was once a keen lover of women and he now talks like a gross misogynist. ‘Name me a single woman who is any use to anyone?’ His magnetism and intellect make him a great social animal but he destroys the affection of his only friend, Willhelm, who aspires to become a novelist. ‘You are not and never were a writer,’ says Borkman with devastating cruelty. Later Willhelm returns, having been knocked off his bike by a speeding car. ‘Everyone gets run over from the time to time,’ shrugs Borkman.

His caustic jibes often become comedic and Simon Russell Beale encompasses both extremes in a performance of enormous charm and depth. He gives the proud and haughty Borkman an approachable, witty side and at times he makes him cuddly and loveable. And the portrait straddles several decades. We can see the reality of the fallen hero – ‘a great wounded eagle’ as he calls himself – but we also detect traces of Borkman’s magnificence in his heyday.