DEALER’S CHOICE
Donmar Warehouse
★★★
“The cast is uniformly strong, bringing definition to Marber’s testosterone-fuelled ensemble”
Three decades after its debut, Patrick Marber’s Dealer’s Choice returns to the London stage in a muscular revival at the Donmar Warehouse. Mostly set in the sweaty basement of a mediocre restaurant, this brutal portrait of male compulsions and laddish bravado still cuts deep, even as it reminds us just how entrenched and ugly blokey culture was in the mid-90s.
Written before Marber’s later success with Closer, Dealer’s Choice remains arguably his most vivid piece in a canon of hits: a searing, funny, and ultimately hollow study of men addicted not just to gambling, but to delusion.
Director Matthew Dunster’s production taps into the play’s timelessness, capturing the dreams, denials, and desperate self-mythologising that haven’t changed much even as mobile phones have turned from bricks to razor blades.
The cast is uniformly strong, bringing definition to Marber’s testosterone-fuelled ensemble. Daniel Lapaine is chillingly precise as Stephen, the restaurant owner whose demand for control barely masks his own compulsions. His bullying interactions with his son Carl – played with a raw sadness by Kasper Hilton-Hille – form the play’s anguished emotional core, even if their conflict at times feels contrived.
Alfie Allen flutters about as pallid Frankie, the wide-boy waiter whose cocky swagger only thinly veils a deeper frustration. He captures the double purpose of the bantz – as weapon and shield. Theo Barklem-Biggs, meanwhile, is the most impressive of the lot, bringing tightly wound fury to Sweeney, the chef desperate to save face – and some money – for a day out with his daughter.
The late arrival of Brendan Coyle’s Ash, a taciturn force with his own dark motives, shifts the game’s stakes dramatically. Coyle’s performance is an embodiment of seething menace: his mere presence alters the dynamic, exposing the men’s bravado for the fragile veneer it is.
But it is Hammed Animashaun’s turn as Mugsy that lingers longest. Mugsy, the hapless, endlessly optimistic dreamer who hopes to open a restaurant in a disused public lavatory in Bow – not inconceivable these days – is the heart of the play. Animashaun, a blissfully funny actor, manages to balance clownish exuberance with bruised humanity, making Mugsy’s pipe dreams oddly touching. He alone seems fully rounded in a cast of men who appear only to perform for each other.
Dunster’s production leans into the claustrophobia of the setting, with Moi Tran’s set design ingeniously lifting the restaurant’s kitchen and dining room skywards to reveal the grim basement beneath, the card table rotating throughout so we see every face. Some knowledge of poker helps in the occasionally confusing second act.
If the production occasionally overstates the father-son melodrama, and its feral language is jarring, it never loses sight of Marber’s essential insight: that in this world, the biggest gamble isn’t with money but with self-worth. Dealer’s Choice reminds us that laddish culture, for all its swagger, often masks desperation and loneliness. The red flag of the ’90s has become a fully blown crisis in the intervening decades
DEALER’S CHOICE
Donmar Warehouse
Reviewed on 29th April 2025
by Giles Broadbent
Photography by Helen Murray
Previously reviewed at this venue:
BACKSTROKE | ★★★ | February 2025
NATASHA, PIERRE & THE GREAT COMET OF 1812 | ★★★★★ | December 2024
SKELETON CREW | ★★★★ | July 2024
THE HUMAN BODY | ★★★ | February 2024
LOVE AND OTHER ACTS OF VIOLENCE | ★★★★ | October 2021
