Review: Dealer’s Choice, Donmar Warehouse

In 1995, Tony Blair, Britpop and Cool Britannia were still in the wings, and, as I recall it, London felt as if it was staggering to the end of something. We were bored, broke and generally fed up. Patrick Marber’s debut, Dealer’s Choice, restaged at Donmar Warehouse 30 years after its first outing, seems to capture something of the spirit of the time. It’s entirely about men and money. To be specific, it’s about men, money and poker. As it predates identity-led theatre by some years (before you ask), it’s categorically not an ‘exploration’ of toxic masculinity. It’s just toxic masculinity. Writ large. Bosh. Here it is. Lock, stock and the rest. No questions, your honour.

The evening is saved by its strong cast, tautly directed by Matthew Dunster and wringing every ounce of subtext they can from Marber’s bombastic dialogue. Leading the pack is Hammed Animashaun as, on the face of it, a bouncy optimistic waiter, Muggsy. The nickname is fitting, Muggsy is quite definitely a mug, but Animashaun, in a star turn, gives the loser an irresistible injection of heart. Chef Sweeney is an addict with a predictable trajectory. Once we hear he has a five-year-old daughter, we know he’s destined to let her down. It’s testament to Theo Barklem-Biggs‘ performance that we still care enough to watch Sweeney’s story to its inevitable drunken, ranting conclusion. Alfie Allen’s Frankie predictably brims with laddish swagger and fragile dreams. Daniel Lapaine brings a quiet menace to restaurant owner Stephen, particularly in his cold, businesslike treatment of his son, Carl, played with appropriate adolescent angst by Kasper Hilton-Hille. Brendan Coyle’s Ash simmers with quiet danger as the archetypal stranger in town. Frankly, each member of the cast works wonders with what they’re given. It’s all immensely watchable, just not overly insightful.

The play is bisected narratively and architecturally. Act One is set upstairs, split between a restaurant and its kitchen. Excitingly, there’s some real cooking briefly, but it’s a token effort, and there’s little sense of being in an actual workplace. All we witness is the build-up to the guy’s regular poker night, and it’s mostly banter. And like most banter, it drags on too long and isn’t particularly funny. Designer Moi Tran at least treats us to a cleverly engineered transition after the interval. He glides us through the building to the basement for Act Two and the poker game itself. Or, to be accurate, games. So many games. Too many games. The problem is, even with a stage revolve keeping the action moving, watching other people bet is spectacularly uninteresting. Cards are a bust, dramatically speaking. It’s why Casino Royale is nobody’s favourite Bond movie. Guess what, kids? Late-night poker is grim. It’s a grind. All we see is losers losing, throwing away good money, then repeating their mistakes, and then going home poorer, sadder, and more desperate.

A final standoff between Dad and the interloper Ash over an unpaid debt has the potential to save the day, but it doesn’t deliver anything close to a satisfying climactic resolution. The last word is left to son, Carl, who weakly suggests nothing will change. The cycle is unbroken. The game continues. This can’t have been revelatory 30 years ago. And, despite the good intentions of this stylish production and its top-quality cast, it certainly isn’t now.

Written by Patrick Marber
Directed by Matthew Dunster
Designed by Moi Tran
Lighting Design by Sally Ferguson
Sound Design by Holly Khan
Fight Direction by RC-Annie

Dealer’s Choice runs at The Donmar Warehouse until Saturday 7 June.