Abigail’s Party at The Kings - deserving of a far, far bigger audience

Abigail’s Party offers an absolutely excruciating evening at the theatre – precisely as it is supposed to do. London Classic Theatre’s new production, directed by Michael Cabot, delves deep into the most appalling behaviour, winding it all up slowly and so skilfully that the only way out is the tragedy we get at the end. And that final scene – the body with the blackest of black comedy still unfurling around it – certainly hasn’t lost its ability to shock.

It’s not so very far off half a century since Mike Leigh in Silver Jubilee year secured a devised hit with the oddest of pieces in which virtually nothing happens except unkindness, cruelty and the crassest insensitivity. But just as this production sets out to show – despite the 70s set, the 70s clothes and the 70s attitudes – there’s so much in it still that makes it definitely worth revisiting in 2023.

Rebecca Birch leads the cast as Beverly, hostess of the party that we are actually seeing. The joke is that Abigail’s party is happening elsewhere, often heard but never seen, back at the house of Susan (Jo Castleton), the only sane, or at least decent, person spending the evening chez Beverly. Susan tries not to drink, tries to remain dignified – but not even she can remain immune to the collateral thrown out by the marriage war Beverly insists on playing out so publicly with husband Laurence (Tom Richardson).

By the end of the first half, it’s all swaying drunkenness. In the second half the hostility explodes. Poor Laurence clings to his love of Dickens (his editions are embossed, so yes, he really, really loves Dickens), but he can’t compete with the onslaught of Beverly’s intoxication and hugely frustrated sexuality. She’s monstrous, but somehow you can’t help but feel for her too.

Completing the party from hell are Angela and Tony, another totally mismatched couple (Alice De-Warrenne and George Readshaw), he morose and simmering nasty, she silly and a wannabe Bev – though oddly she ends up the only one who’s potentially any use to anyone.

It’s a toxic combination – and our perverse pleasure is to watch it head exactly where we know it is heading. It’s a skilled cast, everyone playing their part in this recipe for disaster. And inevitably, because it’s difficult to think of Beverly without thinking of Alison Steadman who created the role, Birch plays her with plenty of Steadman-like intonation. It all adds up to a car-crash in slow motion, an evening of rubber-necking for a sadly small audience on Wednesday. This production deserved far, far more people watching it.

But you can’t help wondering whether a slightly braver production, determined to show its continuing relevance, might have toned down the silly voices which do actually grate just a little by the end. What would happen if the cast were invited to speak rather more normally? Who knows, the result might actually be all the more powerful… Or maybe not. But it would be interesting to see.

And also, that set. Doubtless it’s been researched and authenticated, but it really doesn’t look like the 70s as I remember them.