At the end of Murder in the Cathedral TS Eliot presents the four slayers of Thomas à Becket as suave political apologists. In this blackly comic first play, however, Paul Corcoran sees the same quartet as contract killers who might have stepped out of a medieval Mojo or a roughed-up Reservoir Dogs. The result is weird but moderately beguiling.
The year is 1171. The setting is Knaresborough Castle in Yorkshire where Becket's killers are holed up, at Henry II's orders, for a period of penitent obscurity. But fears of fake period tushery are laid to rest when Brito rounds on the pensive Morville and calls him a "moody git" and the latter retaliates with "you do realise we've made the worst career choice in history?". As a comic device, it works well enough but inevitably the law of diminishing returns sets in and one senses Corcoran is overusing the device.
Corcoran is an ex-teacher and he sometimes treats the audience like an unruly school class. But when he stops making jokes he touches on interesting ideas. Did Henry have a strong political case against Becket or was he simply surrendering to the tyranny of history? And, if the killers were exercising free will, where does that leave God's divine plan? Corcoran leaves the big questions till last, however.
Richard Wilson's production strikes a balance between authentic atmosphere and anachronistic dialogue, and catches the tensions among the sexually ambivalent male quartet. James Purefoy as the moody Morville, Martin Marquez as the brutish Fitz and Jonny Lee Miller as the low-born Brito all look back in rancour, and Mali Harries makes much of the castle's inflammatory housekeeper. It's a lively debut; but Corcoran will be even better when he realises you don't have to brandish four-letter words to hold an audience's attention.
Until December 4. Box office: 0171-328 1000
