A culture-war checklist masquerading as political satire.Rating
Ok
Are you team Andy or team Wes? Set against a backdrop of political turmoil for the Prime Minister, Churchill’s Urinal imagines a media frenzy of its own when the Chancellor of the Exchequer wants to remove a urinal – once used by Winston Churchill himself – from her office bathroom.
But political satire thrives on precision. Despite the promise of a collision of political vanity, culture-war outrage and Britain’s obsession with national identity, the production struggles to turn topicality into comedy.
Those familiar with Rosie Holt’s viral online impersonations of Conservative MPs may arrive expecting incisive commentary on the current political landscape. Instead, the script often mistakes recognition for wit. Contemporary references – like Peter Mandelson, Nigel Farage, Liz Truss, Andrew Tate and the Epstein files – are frequently deployed, but merely as shorthand rather than punchlines, with none of the references confidently landing as jokes.
We start in the Chancellor’s office, where Holt juggles phone calls from her PA Sophie, a divorce lawyer, and an advisor to the prime minister. Early on, the dialogue leans heavily on profanity and shock value, and too often sharper observation is needed.
It seems to follow a basic premise: ‘you know this concept? It’s like this: [insert modern reference here]’. Holt goes on various tangents about her declining political career, and berates her presumably millennial PA for having ADHD, needing a ‘mental health lunch break’, and for working from home. The jibes land uncomfortably rather than humorously.
Michael Lambourne appears as a host of other figures but most notably the voice of Winston Churchill emanating from the titular urinal itself. The visual gag initially raises a laugh, but the characterisation quickly settles into broad stereotype. Much of Churchill’s dialogue, like a comment about “taking a plunger and applying some lube”, feels oddly juvenile for a production aiming at political satire.
Structurally, the piece is thinly sustained across its 70-minute runtime. External characters and interruptions attempt to inject momentum, but the narrative ultimately circles around a final joke that lacks sufficient payoff. Content aside, there are production jitters too. Holt’s volume starts off too quiet, and from the back rows sections of dialogue are difficult to catch. Sound cues are spoken over, while recurring plot devices – particularly a mobile phone perpetually hovering at 1% battery – become distracting.
Audience interaction also proves awkward. Some members of the front row were asked to stand, only to be accused of being attendees at a Tommy Robinson march. Intended or not, the sequence generated more discomfort than laughter.
The design of the comically large, yellow-stained urinal at the back of the stage makes for an undeniably absurd centrepiece. Yet even here, the script cannot resist shoehorning in further contemporary references, from Morgan McSweeney to Bonnie Blue and GB News, without real purpose.
By the end, Churchill’s Urinal gestures towards a plea for national unity and a rejection of division. But the production never develops enough satirical clarity to make that conclusion land with force. What remains is largely a monologue-driven barrage of contemporary references that barely surpass the premise of a sketch. The modern references are intermittently provocative, but rarely insightful or genuinely funny.
Written by Rosie Holt
Additional Material by Stewart Lee
Directed by Daniel Clarkson
Lighting Programmer: Ryan Dunnett
Sound Design by Jac Cooper
Company Stage Manager: Jordan Deegan-Fleet
Presented by James Seabright / Seabright Live
Churchill’s Urinal plays at King’s Head Theatre until Saturday 6 June.
