The Hothouse Harold Pinter BT Early until Saturday 9th June

The Hothouse is a great play, and beneath dark comedy it has much to say about institutionalised life. Yet to draw this out requires timing, accuracy and sensitivity - facets which this production sadly, and consistently, seems to lack.

The story itself is intriguing; a 'convalescence home' overseen by an anonymous ministry, run by incapable, corrupt management. Patient 6457 has died; patient 6459 has given birth. That the father might be a member of staff is undisputed - "I don't mind them dipping their wicks occasionally", says Roote, the manager, - "It's got to go somewhere." It's the fact that no one filed a report about it that bothers him. The actors move awkwardly, and seem of the mind that to express changes in emotion they need merely to shout a little louder. Paul O'Mahoney as Roote and John Banks as Gibbs, his assistant, show some promise, yet in general are awkward and unconvincing. Sarah Hargreaves tries her best to be the "licentious secretary" the programme promises, but fails dismally - looking good in a nightdress does not a talented actress make. Saviour of the play was Indrojit Baneji, playing Lush, whose stage presence alone was worthy of praise. In monologues, especially his opening speech telling of a visitor to the home, he is captivating and engaging, lifting the standard of all the scenes he appears in. Unfortunately, this is not enough to rescue the production.

Technically, 'The Hothouse' was a shambles. The window effect used within Roote's office was attractive, but ridiculous when actors proclaimed "it's snowing", or worse still when the mime of opening it was attempted. The stark ideology of the play could similarly have been better echoed by more thought to staging - a harsher, sparser set may have set off the themes of the piece somewhat better. Set changes are performed by the cast, making them noisy and chaotic, and the backstage noise was distracting; a soundtrack may have helped to cover the din.

This is a show with much promise, but lacing the skill in direction needed to make it sparkle - shambling onto the stage for the curtain call, even the actors looked somewhat embarrassed. All I can say is this: after an hour, a man in the audience fell asleep. After nearly two, I was more than inclined to agree with him.

Rebecca Smith 05-06-01