Two or three speeches in A Wolf in Snakeskin Shoes have a rare sumptuousness, a lip-smacking savvy that proves Marcus Gardley a real writing talent. His new play transplants the action of Molière’s Tartuffe to Atlanta, Georgia, and turns the antihero into a trickster preacher, who specialises in the laying on of hands on young blondes, and plots to restore his fortunes by ripping off a fried-chicken millionaire.
The knockout orations sizzle. Adjoa Andoh smoulders into feminism as “a thick, golden-brown, brickhouse goddess of voluptuous lusciousness”. As the holy fraud, Lucian Msamati delivers the most salivating grace God has ever heard. A glorious gospel line-up is greatly enhanced by the effortless trumpet of Sharon D Clarke’s voice.
Yet Gardley’s talent is more evident in his arias than in dramatic drive, and his target is made to look like a sitting duck. Though Indhu Rubasingham has a gift for staging caustic, foul-mouthed plays – witness her production of The Motherfucker with the Hat – she does not drive things fast or precisely enough here. Not so much a wolf in snakeskin shoes as a labrador in Hush Puppies.
• A Wolf in Snakeskin Shoes is at the Tricycle, London until 14 November
