★★★

“an extraordinary piece that gets under our skin”

There is a brutal honesty that runs through Will Lord’s debut play, “The Billionaire Inside Your Head”. A truth that is recognisable and unsettling. Lord cuts straight to the chase with an opening monologue delivered with panache, and a touch of menace, by Allison McKenzie. We are asked questions we would never admit to asking ourselves. But on reflection we all do. More often than we’d care to divulge. Nobody offers up an answer (McKenzie provides it anyway). We squirm a bit in our seats, and realise that the traverse seating plan is probably deliberate. We are looking straight at the audience opposite. We are looking at ourselves.

It comes as a relief when the fourth wall is rebuilt and we are drawn into the main narrative of the play (the comfort is short-lived, however). We are in the basement office of a debt collecting firm, bookended by ramshackle filing cabinets. Richie (Nathan Clarke) and Darwin (Ashley Margolis) are old school mates starting out on the lowest rung of the cooperate ladder. They still carry their childhood dreams of becoming billionaires. Hence the title of the play, although “The Voice Inside Your Head” would provide a more accurate description. Richie has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), and it is this subtext that quickly comes to the surface and dominates the story.

Clarke and Margolis have a natural onstage chemistry. Friendship, affection and rivalry co-exist as if they were close siblings. Cracks appear, however, when they find they are competing for the same promotion, and the quirkiness of their dialogue – often extremely funny – takes on darker shades. It so happens that their boss is Darwin’s mother, Nicole, (Allison McKenzie), so nepotism versus merit is another spanner that Lord throws into the works. It is possibly all a bit too much and this overcrowding of ideas can lead to confusion. McKenzie plays the mother, and also ‘The Voice’ inside Richie’s head, but with little distinction. Dressed in her crisp white trouser suit for both roles, the accent and vocal inflections never change. We rely on James Whiteside’s lighting; bare lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling light up and flicker as a cartoon-like – but not inappropriate – metaphor whenever McKenzie becomes ‘The Voice’.

Eventually ‘The Voice’ overshadows the action, which is a shame. And we feel we are in two separate dramas. Clarke and Margolis are an engaging couple, verging on bromance. They make fun of each other. Margolis’ Darwin is a bit of a dope-smoking slob, self-assured and secure while Clarke’s Richie is on always edge. The manifestations of his OCD, initially comical, swiftly turn quite sinister and surreal. Lord, himself diagnosed with OCD, tackles the subject with integrity and honesty, but injects extravagant melodrama – which is distracting. Anna Ledwich directs with respect for the writing, yet it appears that she is struggling to decide in what genre she is working.

There are serious issues at stake here, but it is difficult to take them seriously. Richie’s condition is demonised somewhat – the voice in his head grows sadistic, psychotic, angry. Lord’s intentions are applauded and the gripping performances from the cast are applauded even more. It is an extraordinary piece that gets under our skin, but it is administered too indelicately. A little less force would drive the point home more. Nevertheless, it is a compelling watch, and one that certainly makes us question our own voice. We all have one. Maybe we don’t always admit it. The truth is often unsettling and, at least, Lord doesn’t shy away from it.

SHOWMANISM

Hampstead Theatre

★★★★

“a shape-shifting reflection on theatre’s sacred, absurd, and slippery essence”

In Showmanism, sinuous Dickie Beau invites his audience into a theatrical séance of sorts, where ghosts of performance past and present converge in a dreamlike meditation on the nature of acting itself.

This is not a conventional solo show, nor a piece easily categorised. Rather, it’s a shape-shifting reflection on theatre’s sacred, absurd, and slippery essence, filtered through Beau’s singular practice of choreographed lip-sync.

From the moment the audience arrives, the show’s creator, Dickie Beau, is watching. Not in a passive stage-waiting way, but with the kind of unblinking attention that suggests something has already begun. The stage is a cabinet of curiosities: a skull, a space helmet, a wheelbarrow of earth, a chest. It’s part playground, part reliquary. Objects are handled with purpose, not symbolism. A mop is a mop until it’s something else.

As the show unfolds, voices pour in – recorded interviews with a constellation of theatre figures – Sir Ian McKellen, Patsy Rodenburg, Steve Nallon, Fiona Shaw and more – each offering reflections on the craft.

Beau mouths their words with uncanny fidelity, capturing the hesitations, stumbles, and emphases that make speech human. It’s not impersonation, rather, it feels as though the voices are using him – inhabiting him.

In one glorious meta moment – and for one night only – the voice of Ian McKellen reflects on seeing Dickie’s performance of Ian McKellen, watching himself while watching from the audience. Meanwhile, on press night, the actual Ian McKellen was in the stalls hearing himself talking about hearing himself… and so on.

The themes spiral outward from familiar theatrical lore (a missing script, a drying actor) into questions of ontology. What does it mean to perform? Is theatre a form of worship or therapy? A hiding place? A revelation? The voices disagree. Some revere the stage as sacred ground; others are dryly dismissive. Critics are roasted, actors adored, and through it all, Beau remains both the medium and the message.

Under Jan-Willem van den Bosch’s direction, the show is exquisitely controlled yet elusive. Marty Langthorne’s lighting and Dan Steele’s sound design conjure a dreamscape more felt than seen, while Justin Nardella’s set thrums with backstage nostalgia. The effect is like wandering through someone else’s memory of theatre.

Beau, physically, is a marvel. Barefoot or barely clothed, he transforms with minute adjustments of face and form. There’s mischief, melancholy, and moments of startling stillness. And when, briefly, he mimes to his own recorded voice, the effect is disarming. Who, really, is doing the talking?

Showmanism is not tidy. It veers towards the self-indulgent. Performers talking about performers. Elevating themselves to gods. Ugh, who needs it? Beau is told on tape by a panoply of greats how thoughtful and warm and wonderful he is, and we are reminded that Beau decided to include all this flattery in the show so we could all hear. It can become too much, too me, me, me – but then again only briefly.

The show doesn’t build to a climax or deliver a thesis. At times, it wanders. The meaty content is on tape, so much of the show is not a live performance at all. But that’s also part of its spell. It separates performance from message so the latter can explore the former. For all its intellectual reach – and it is rich with references – it is also unexpectedly funny and physically immediate.

Dickie Beau offers something new, something original, an antidote to the short-form brain-rot video snacking that dominates the culture – and yet adjacent in trickery and technique.

THE BILLIONAIRE INSIDE YOUR HEAD

Hampstead Theatre

★★★

“an extraordinary piece that gets under our skin”

THE BILLIONAIRE INSIDE YOUR HEAD

Hampstead Theatre

Reviewed on 26th September 2025

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Rich Lakos

Previously reviewed at this venue:

THE BILLIONAIRE

THE BILLIONAIRE

THE BILLIONAIRE

SHOWMANISM

Hampstead Theatre

★★★★

“a shape-shifting reflection on theatre’s sacred, absurd, and slippery essence”

SHOWMANISM

Hampstead Theatre

Reviewed on 23rd June 2025

by Giles Broadbent

Photography by Amanda Searle

Last ten shows reviewed at this venue:

SHOWMANISM

SHOWMANISM

SHOWMANISM

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