★★★½

“Grandage’s direction captures the intoxicating glamour and moral decay of 1980s London”

Should we love people for their beauty, or are people made beautiful through being loved? That is one of the central questions of The Line of Beauty, Alan Hollinghurst’s Booker Prize-winning novel, now given its first stage adaptation at the Almeida.

After a seven-year publishing hiatus, Hollinghurst’s 2024 novel Our Evenings reminded readers of his deft treatment of class, race and sexuality in late 20th-century Britain. This adaptation of his 2004 masterpiece, directed by Michael Grandage and adapted by Jack Holden, feels timely again: a period piece that still captures the social anxieties and desires of the present.

The story follows Nick Guest (Jasper Talbot), a young Oxford graduate who moves into the London home of his friend Toby Fedden’s family between 1983 and 1987. The Feddens seem gracious hosts: Gerald (Charles Edwards), a newly minted Tory MP on the up in Thatcher’s Britain, and Rachel (Claudia Harrison), the moneyed, quietly controlling matriarch. Yet beneath their polished hospitality lies an unease—Nick’s sexuality is tolerated rather than embraced, and despite his education and charm, he remains forever an outsider.

The production’s strongest moments come in the first act, contrasting Nick’s initiation into the Feddens’ rarefied world with his tender, complex relationship with Leo (a wonderful Alistair Nwachukwu), his first boyfriend. The class and racial dynamics between them are finely drawn: to the Feddens, Nick is gauche and provincial; to Leo, he represents privilege and aspiration. Their dinner scene at Leo’s family home is the play’s emotional heart, Doreene Blackstock is superb as Leo’s devout Jamaican mother, layering issues of class, race, sexuality and faith with undeniable warmth.

Adam Cork’s sound design brilliantly anchors the production in its era. 80s pop anthems throb through the set, evoking the ecstasy and danger of the decade. Subtler choices are just as effective: a soft echo added to conversations in country estates conjures a chilling sense of distance and grandeur. Christopher Oram’s costumes complete the world—corduroy trousers, baggy shirts, and side ponytails secured with satin scrunchies perfectly capturing the aesthetic of the age.

The play can feel overstuffed. A vast array of characters and subplots race through a decade of shifting politics and private betrayals. Some secondary roles are barely glimpsed, though “Old Pete” (Matt Mella), Leo’s older ex-lover, leaves a lasting impression in just a few minutes on stage.

There are clunky moments: stylised scene transitions, on-the-nose symbolism (a line of cocaine mirroring the “line of beauty”), and some heavy-handed dialogue. And Talbot as Nick feels like a vessel for the audience to view this world rather than a hero: passive, and at times insipidly submissive, forever observing beauty rather than creating it. But Grandage’s direction captures the intoxicating glamour and moral decay of 1980s London, while Arty Froushan’s totally tragic Wani brings a raw vulnerability to the later scenes.

In the end, as the impact of the AIDS pandemic draws closer in and the hypocrisies of wealth and politics are laid bare, Nick’s exile feels inevitable. On the whole this adaptation of The Line of Beauty is a thoughtful, sensuous reflection on love, class and the price of belonging.

QUADROPHENIA, A MOD BALLET

Sadler’s Wells Theatre

★★★★★

“A truly triumphant interpretation – poignant and powerful.”

When Pete Townshend wrote the rock opera “Quadrophenia”, released back in 1973, he felt that The Who, as a band, was ‘lost’ and that the whole process of recording the double album ‘helped us find our way’ (his words). The central character is partly a reflection of this, but also a brilliant description – and representation – of the mid 1960s as seen through the eyes of a young man searching for meaning in a world filled with disillusionment. It has become a rock opera, a film and a classical opera. Now, as a ballet over half a century later, it maintains its relevance without the slightest hint of modernising it aesthetically or culturally. We are fully immersed, not just in pure nostalgia, but also the sheer beauty of the performances, the backdrop and the cinematic orchestral arrangements of the music.

Opening with crashing waves against a solitary rock, we see Jimmy alone on the outcrop, swiftly joined by his four personalities who move like the waves – like sirens luring him into the waters below. But Jimmy chooses the route back to his dissatisfied life. Paris Fitzpatrick is extraordinary as the young mod, Jimmy, barely away from the vast stage for a second, leading us and the other dancers through the tempestuous twists of his journey. The performers need little guidance, however. Each one is a leader in their own right: the Tough Guy, the Romantic or the Hypocrite; the Godfather, the Ace Face, the Mod Girl, the Rocker. Or the shell-shocked parent. Directed by Rob Ashford, every step is meticulously clear while Yeastculture.org’s panoramic video projections seamlessly carry us from place to place on Christopher Oram’s simple yet fluid set.

Steeped in symbolism, the emotional impact is compelling. We are constantly distracted from intellectual appreciation. The characterisation is as integral as the virtuosity of the dancers. When Fitzpatrick’s Jimmy meets his childhood friend (Euan Garrett), now a Rocker, the couple’s inner conflicts are vividly evoked in every movement. Paul Roberts’ choreography throughout is at once original and recognisable, athletic and intimate, violent and tender. It refuses categorisation; ballet moves swaying into jazz, contemporary, a touch of street. The impurity is vital to Roberts’ telling of the story. Jimmy’s parents, and his relationship with them, only need a few dance steps to give us the full picture. Stuart Neal and Kate Tydman – as the father and mother – attract and repel in gorgeous tarantellas, erotic and violent, bleeding into the Father’s traumatic memories of WWII (a disturbing yet perfectly glorious ensemble routine).

And, of course, we have the love interest: Serena McCall’s Mod Girl, sassy and sexy, moving within and without the yearning reach of our ‘quadrophenic’ protagonist. The charismatic rival, the Ace Face, is a constant threat – a swaggering and commanding Dan Baines, while Matthew Ball’s rock star figure, the Godfather, is a stark reminder to Jimmy never to meet your idol. A self-deprecating moment deliberately referencing The Who’s status in the seventies that has survived intact to the present day. This attention to detail surfaces in waves of nostalgia, that some may not fully appreciate. You have to be a true Londoner to feel the full dewy-eyed force of designer Oram’s recreation of Soho’s ‘New Piccadilly Café’. Authenticity is a keyword here, which is certainly amplified by Paul Smith’s sharp costumes.

The driving force is the music, orchestrated by Rachel Fuller (and Martin Batchelar). Faithful to Townshend’s original rock numbers, Fuller has scored the music for a full symphony orchestra. The electric rock rhythms of guitars and bass occasionally burst through, but elsewhere the vocal melodies and guitar solos are searing violins, aching cellos, rich double-basses or horn sections. Entirely instrumental, you can still at times hear Roger Daltrey’s voice surfing the multi-layered melody lines. Like the dancing, it is grand but far from precious. With both you could just as easily be in the Albert Hall or the sweaty dark of Wardour Street’s Marquee Club. Another landmark sadly gone. “Quadrophenia” harks back to another time that some say is long dead, but this ballet drags it alive and kicking into the present. It resonates unmistakably without any concession to the twenty-first century. It doesn’t need it. The essence is all there – in the dance and in the music.

When ‘Quadrophenia’ was first released, Pete Townshend probably had no idea of its legacy. Although he has since stated that The Who ‘never recorded anything so ambitious or audacious again’. “Quadrophenia: A Mod Ballet” is just as (maybe even more so) ambitious and audacious, even by today’s standards. A truly triumphant interpretation – poignant and powerful.

THE LINE OF BEAUTY

Almeida Theatre

★★★½

“Grandage’s direction captures the intoxicating glamour and moral decay of 1980s London”

THE LINE OF BEAUTY

Almeida Theatre

Reviewed on 30th October 2025

by Amber Woodward

Photography by Johan Persson

Previously reviewed at this venue:

THE LINE OF BEAUTY

THE LINE OF BEAUTY

THE LINE OF BEAUTY

QUADROPHENIA, A MOD BALLET

Sadler’s Wells Theatre

★★★★★

“A truly triumphant interpretation – poignant and powerful.”