Doesn’t bore or baffle
of a failed artist. You name it. But none of these symbols can possibly reach the play- goer in the theatre who simply sees an actor hitting and breaking a prop. And yet the drum can inspire long screeds of erudite speculation from Pinter anoraks lodged in universities around the world. And here lies the Pinter conundrum. Theoreticians adore him but audiences are more sceptical.
This cheerful, pacey, superficial production is determined to generate laughs rather than footnotes. Zoë Wanamaker works wonders with Meg and turns her into a monument of blithering stupidity. Toby Jones’s crumpled defiance is amusing enough but at 51 he’s too ramshackle to play Stanley, whose age is specified as ‘ late 30s’. And he lacks the physique to stand up to his abductors so his attempt to challenge them rings a little false. Goldberg and McCann are often performed as two halves of a double act but here they’re carefully differentiated. Tom Vaughan- Lawlor plays McCann as a sort of angry flagpole, clattering and tinkling in furious self- absorption. And he’s entirely dominated by Stephen Mangan who gives Goldberg an effusive comic menace. Mangan glides about the stage like Bruce Forsyth on top form, smiling and bantering, filling the air with aggressive inanities. His spiky merriment uncovers a truth about the character: a successful thug must be a talented street performer, full of feints and tricks, and lightning- quick ripostes. This production is a delight because it doesn’t bore or baffle anyone. For a Pinter play, these are important and rare bonuses.
The Claim is about Serge, an African refugee, whose back story is confused and contradictory. He states that he comes from Streatham but he later admits that he’s Congolese and has spent years in Uganda. He’s helped by a gormless male interpreter who talks about himself all the time and equates the hopes of African asylum- seekers with the choices faced by Brits selecting a Greek island for their hols. Serge is passed to a black female claims manager who treats his case far more sceptically than her white colleague. Is that because she’s black, like Serge? This intriguing play won’t tell us. The plot turns on a tiny but fatal error of interpretation. Describing a violent episode in his childhood, Serge says he was in possession of ‘ gum’. The translator uses the word ‘ gun’. Serge is duly classified as a terrorist. When he discovers the mistake, he tries to correct it but his efforts are taken as further proof of his criminal character.
This is a small, brief play with just three actors talking at each other on a nearempty set. Cheapskate minimalism is the ruling aesthetic here — its neon lights wouldn’t look out of place on a traffic island. And yet the piece is unnerving, absorbing and full of deliciously nasty surprises.
By arrangement with the Spectator