★★★★

“a wonderful antidote to the long winter nights”

It’s the ultimate medical breakthrough. Two scientists have discovered the ‘Wonder Jab’; the universal cure for everything. Although on the surface they look and behave as though they can’t tell a test tube from a jam jar. The whole thing looks rather dodgy. Dr Max (Rob Pomfret) and his ice-maiden boss, Dr Judy (Sophie Mackall), are holed up in what looks like an under-funded basement laboratory. Alice Carroll’s stark set suggests covert, subterranean mischief where oxygen and ethics are thin on the ground.

Instead, though, the air is thick with satire and chaotic humour in Lloyd Evans’ new play, “One Jab Cures All”. Max and Judy are on the cusp of fame and are grappling with what it all means – for themselves and for the world. We don’t know how they discovered this miracle cure. But then again, neither do they. What we do know is that they intend to administer it via chocolate mini-rolls and cake (watch out for the Victoria sponge that triggers all sorts of shenanigans like Chekhov’s Gun). A press conference is imminent, but the couple are at loggerheads about how to tell their story to the world; even though it has already been leaked by the Russians, who apparently funded and under-tested the research.

Judy sees dollar signs and wants to privately sell it to the rich and powerful elite – the billionaires and the illuminati. Max, on the other hand, wants it to be distributed, free, for everyone. If they keep it a secret, they’ll make millions of pounds. If they share it, they’ll save millions of lives. It is a global contradiction, played out in a tiny space. Director Matthew Parker skilfully steers his cast around the confines of the stage, blending well the slapstick with the biting dialogue. Like the protagonists who mix their chemicals with gay abandon, the result is unpredictable, if not quite explosive. Into the mix wander Max’s teenage daughter Felicity (Lauren Whitehill) and junior researcher Vic (Jay Warn). Loyalties are ripped apart. Felicity and Vic are pulled together while Judy and Max are polar opposites. Attraction and repulsion are equal forces here, and the messy magnetism of the performances draw us in.

There is a heightened theatricality to the characters that, because of their many layers, avoids caricature. Each cast member captures their inconsistencies with a natural understanding of the humour and absurdity of the human condition. Pomfret is the humanitarian with loose morals, a devoted single dad who likes to keep the babysitter warm on winter nights. Judy is a hard nut who melts under flattery, and Mackall nimbly presents vanity as vulnerability. Like all, she is just looking for love. Warn’s Vic is quirky and nerdy but loveably real while Whitehill is a ball of innocent, scatty and funny energy.

In lockdown, many people were, understandably, concerned about the speed with which the vaccines were rolled out. An over explored and over discussed premise, but Evans mirrors the theme with originality and freshness. There is a fair amount of meandering into subplots and shoe-horned subtexts. Lengthy discussions about family, marriage, love and ageing, for example, sludge the narrative in places and the intermittent lack of focus detracts from the main thread. Yet the gentle zigzagging does lead to some finely executed twists. A little less clunkiness in the physical comedy would get us there with fewer stumbles on the journey.

“One Jab Cures All” is a wonderful antidote to the long winter nights. An eccentric tale of medicine, money, morals and miracles. It goes down with more than a spoonful of sugar and the only side effects that you need to worry about are a few extra laughter lines.

THE DAUGHTER OF TIME

Charing Cross Theatre

★★★

“The whole thing ambles along like a Wolseley 6/90 – reliable, well-upholstered and stately in its way”

To the surprise of a modern audience, the NHS in 1950 apparently afforded a patient a spacious room, a brace of sassy nurses, use of the good stationery and endless weeks of convalescence – all for a broken leg.

Admittedly, the broken leg is attached to a bona fide hero – Scotland Yard detective Alan Grant (Rob Pomfret) who is bothered, bored and self-pitying, having acquired the injury in a failed chase.

At 50, he is staring down the barrel of an enforced retirement. What he needs is a challenge to prove his worth.

It arrives in the form of a postcard of Richard III. Is he the villain of Shakespeare’s imaginings or is he the most wronged monarch in history? Grant begins gnawing on the 400-year-old mystery, dragging in acolytes and helpers who indulge him for reasons that are never entirely clear.

In the meantime, the audience of M Kilburg Reedy’s adaptation of Josephine Tey’s classic novel has their own set of challenges.

Firstly, the staging. The bed which contains our hero is right at the back of the stage. Pomfret does some great head-and-neck acting but there are obvious audibility and distance problems. This timorous cowering becomes so pronounced that the actors appear to have a Pavlovian aversion to entering the 12-foot buffer zone at the front where most other productions would do their best work.

Secondly, there’s a lot to remember. Such is the extent of the exposition, characters end up reading from textbooks, dropping in long speeches about Plantagenet politics (where others might discuss the weather or the cricket) and pinning pictures on boards that we, the audience, cannot see.

The programme comes with a family tree which – what? – we’re supposed to learn before the curtain rises? Cue chilling flashbacks to history exams with cold sweat trickling down collective spines and key dates written in biro on shirt cuffs.

Thirdly, all this takes time. So much time that if you were to see all the plots and subplots laid out as a menu – including some Shakespearean romantic fandango – you might dispense with the minor dishes and opt for the classic main course/dessert combo and get the thing done. But writer Reedy will insist on you seeing the product of her thinking as she tussles with evident problems of staging a history lecture.

All this is not to say director Jenny Eastop’s production is not ultimately enjoyable. Time eases the last two of these problems. In the second act the questions become more focussed – did Richard III usurp the throne, and did he kill the princes in the tower? – allowing for some graspable curiosity to arise. And the problem of length, while not entirely dissolved, becomes less obdurate because the actors are earnest in their commitment to the production and reside in settings and costumes (Bob Sterrett) which are sumptuous.

Rob Pomfret as Alan Grant is solid; Rachel Pickup injects glamour into lovelorn actress Marta Hallard, inexplicably besotted with the curmudgeonly Grant; Noah Huntley has fun with closeted stage darling Nigel Templeton; and Harrison Sharpe – the Shaggy of this Scooby Doo gang – is lithe limbed and kooky as amateur investigator Brent Carradine.

Elsewhere the ensemble is curiously well-briefed about English culture and history but disguise their learning with a straight-faced charm.

The whole thing ambles along like a Wolseley 6/90 – reliable, well-upholstered and stately in its way. If time is not an issue, be assured, you will arrive at your destination eventually.

Tag Archives: Rob Pomfret

ONE JAB CURES ALL

★★★★

Theatre at the Tabard

ONE JAB CURES ALL

Theatre at the Tabard

★★★★

“a wonderful antidote to the long winter nights”

ONE JAB CURES ALL

Theatre at the Tabard

Reviewed on 15th January 2026

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Lidia Crisafulli

ONE JAB CURES ALL

ONE JAB CURES ALL

ONE JAB CURES ALL

THE DAUGHTER OF TIME

★★★

Charing Cross Theatre

THE DAUGHTER OF TIME

Charing Cross Theatre

★★★

“The whole thing ambles along like a Wolseley 6/90 – reliable, well-upholstered and stately in its way”