★★★

“a show that draws you in”

Loss, sculptures and hallucinations bring us into the world of Lorenzo Allchurch’s new play. Here, grief and comedy go hand in hand and you never know how destructive things can get till it’s too late.

After his mother’s death, Allen struggles to cope. He’s not really on speaking terms with his father or brother, so the days slip away while he remains closed off in a family home he can’t afford and surrounded by his mother’s work (i.e. sculptures). And there’s that voice he keeps hearing, a voice talking to him. It’s coming from William S. Burroughs; his sculpture, to be more accurate. Allen’s isolation gets disrupted and peculiar things start to happen, till a fire breaks out and Allen needs to decide once and for all whether he’s going to face his grief and or let it consume him.

The performances given by all three members of the ensemble were fantastic. Lorenzo Allchurch himself plays the role of Allen and manages to highlight the intriguing nuances of the character, with some hilarious comedic timing when interacting with police constable Dread, played by Leah Aspden. Aspden shines during the interrogation scene and balances the seriousness and wittiness of their character phenomenally. Gabriella Moran takes on the roles of Allen’s family, which are the father, brother and dead mother. It’d be nice to see some more variety between the characters, even if they don’t appear on stage for too long. If it wasn’t for the different costumes, it’d be challenging to tell the characters apart, though there is some lovely chemistry between the dead mother and Allen.

Jason Isaacs surprises us by giving his voice to the bust of William Burroughs, the main hallucination, or guardian angel, talking to Allen. A captivating audio appearance with a voice that is intriguing, hilarious and perfectly fit to speak Allen’s thoughts, even the most intrusive ones.

There is real potential in this play. Some deep exploration of grief, how it affects mental health and distorts how we perceive reality. But Lost Watches can’t decide what it wants to say. Some entertaining jokes are made, then suddenly we have the spirit of Allen’s mother visiting him and dancing with the floating head of William Burroughs. Its subject matter gets sidelined by the comedy and it’s never clear whether what we see is a coping mechanism, a narrative device or straight up hallucinations. Alex Helfrecht’s direction doesn’t help to clarify that and doesn’t really help with the pacing of the show. When the epilogue comes on, it feels abrupt like something is missing; maybe an interval and another twenty to thirty minutes to help us delve deeper into the characters and the plot.

Rob Davis, as the production designer and art director, delivers a set that is simple, yet very atmospheric. There are sculptures covered with sheets, with William Burroughs’ bust in the centre. Also, with a projector’s assistance, we see a window to the outside world, making the small stage feel less claustrophobic and the time passing clearer.

Lost Watches is a show that draws you in. It’s entertaining, but lacks the depth that is required for themes like grief and self-destruction, resulting in an evening that leaves you wondering ‘is that all there is to it?’

THE GANG OF THREE

King’s Head Theatre

★★★★

“At the centre of director Kirsty Patrick Ward’s bitchy and erudite psychodrama are three rounded and convincing performances”

The occasional soundtrack behind this formidable political drama tells of a nation undergoing change, from the raucous rock of the early ’70s to the chaotic onslaught of punk and New Wave as the ’80s approach.

But inside Libby Watson’s evocative set – all dusty books, leather sofas, and drinks trolleys – the same argument goes round and round.

Three giants of the Labour movement – Tony Crosland, Roy Jenkins, Denis Healey – all pals from war-time Oxford – cannot fathom how to seize the leadership of their party and the country.

It’s right there for the taking, if only they can agree on who should carry the flame.

With such a prize will come influence for generations. Think: no Margaret Thatcher; the leftist tendency put to the sword; no third party politics.

But these towering figures are also – and perhaps more so – towering egos and none will relinquish their claim.

In the end, the prize is lost.

In writers Robert Khan and Tom Salinksky’s reckoning, the what-ifs fly like shrapnel through the years.

That is not to suggest these three upholstered middle-aged men were on the outside. No, they were close to power, becoming the embodiment of the privileged elite. Roy Jenkins, the father of the permissive ’60s, Denis Healey, arguably the last truly charismatic chancellor, and – brightest of them all – Tony Crosland and his seminal thinking on the future of socialism.

And yet, the prize eluded them and was granted to lesser men, in their eyes. They marvel, at one point, how the hard left stole the party after the 1979 election defeat simply because Tony Benn and Michael Foot did a deal that avoided splitting the vote, a feat the magnificent minds of The Gang of Three simply couldn’t pull off. For years.

As Healey says at one point, “We are all children wearing our fathers’ clothes, hoping no-one will notice.”

They know their fate is to sink together, to cancel each other out, but still they cling to old disputes while the country moves on.

At the centre of director Kirsty Patrick Ward’s bitchy and erudite psychodrama are three rounded and convincing performances, not impressions but capturing the spirit of those mighty figures.

Alan Cox is Crosland, all camp teasing and frivolity; booming Colin Tierney captures the avuncular yet menacing manoeuvrings of Denis Healey; while Hywel Morgan has the hunched-up physicality (and the mispronounced Rs) of the uptight, humourless Roy Jenkins, so desperate to run a party, he eventually founded his own.

In the brisk, knowing script we jump from April 1972, just as Jenkins throws his toys out of the pram and resigns the deputy leadership, to the mournful 1980 post-mortem, Thatcher in power for a generation and Jenkins still plotting to claim the liberal throne.

By then Crosland is dead at 58, his stellar potential left unfulfilled.

There is an unfortunate flashback to 1940, suggesting a homosexual fling between Jenkins and Crosland, but beyond that, the play never puts a foot wrong. The script is dense with argument about the difficult politics of the left but all is handled with a deft and playful touch.

To those who were there, it is an exciting tribute to great men of charisma in an age of titans – and to those too young to remember, it serves as a reminder that nothing – least of all fratricide – is new in politics.

The Gang of Three is an accomplished and satisfying work, with polished performances, a witty script, endless gins and a cascade of awkward truths that are still relevant today.

LOST WATCHES

Park Theatre

★★★

“a show that draws you in”

LOST WATCHES

Park Theatre

Reviewed on 1st August 2025

by Stephanie Christodoulidou

Photography by Mark Senior

Last ten shows reviewed at this venue:

LOST WATCHES

LOST WATCHES

LOST WATCHES

THE GANG OF THREE

King’s Head Theatre

★★★★

“At the centre of director Kirsty Patrick Ward’s bitchy and erudite psychodrama are three rounded and convincing performances”

THE GANG OF THREE

King’s Head Theatre

Reviewed on 6th May 2025

by Giles Broadbent

Photography by Manuel Harlan

Previously reviewed at this venue:

THE GANG OF THREE

THE GANG OF THREE

THE GANG OF THREE

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