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God of Carnage review: Freema Agyeman comedy is mannered and unsubtle

Yasmina Reza’s 2008 comedy wavers on the edge of a meaty, satisfying point that never materialises

Alice Saville
Thursday 07 September 2023 12:28 BST
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Freema Agyeman in ‘God of Carnage’
Freema Agyeman in ‘God of Carnage’ (The Other Richard)

You don’t have to be some kind of theatrical clairvoyant to work out where French playwright Yasmina Reza’s thoroughly middle-class 2008 comedy God of Carnage is headed. Of course, this designer white furniture isn’t going to stay white. Of course, moral purity will be muddied. Of course, there will be shouting.

In 2009, it won the Olivier Award for Best New Comedy after premiering in the West End with an A-grade cast (Ralph Fiennes, Tamsin Greig, Janet McTeer and Ken Stott) in a translation by Christopher Hampton. You’d expect a revival from west London avant-garde powerhouse Lyric Hammersmith to dismantle its formulaic, drawing-room comedy feel in favour of something a bit more European but director Nicholai La Barrie’s approach plays things pretty straight. The biggest choice here is the acting style: it’s big and oh-so-mannered, something that works in the later slapstick scenes but just feels a bit painful in the early moments. As Veronica, Freema Agyeman (aka Doctor Who companion Martha Jones) delivers a performance that wouldn’t disgrace a Restoration comedy, clutching her chest or collapsing on a couch like she’s literally, rather than metaphorically, dying of social awkwardness.

The underlying cause of all this drama? Her 11-year-old son Bruno got whacked in the mouth with a stick by his classmate Ferdinand. Now historian Veronica and her everybloke husband Michael (Martin Hutson) are putting on an elaborate pantomime of liberal broadmindedness in their book-filled living room. It’s pretty much wasted on Ferdinand’s sharkish parents, Alan (Ariyon Bakare) and Annette (Dinita Gohil) – she’s a superficially sympathetic wealth manager, he’s a corporate lawyer who’s troublingly unrattled by his son’s savagery. Homemade clafoutis is served, and debates on the boundaries of forgiveness and civility ensue.

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