Florian Zeller – the high-profile French playwright who wrote The Father (still running in the West End) and The Mother (at the Tricycle until recently) – has a new offering, in a pitch-perfect translation by Christopher Hampton, that looks certain to be another hit. The Truth is funny, thought-provoking and plays seamlessly as a dream. It owes something to Les Liaisons Dangereuses (also translated by Hampton) and more (a debt acknowledged by Zeller) to Pinter’s Betrayal. It is an unusually accomplished piece about two unfaithful couples. A millefeuille of truth and deceit, it keeps us guessing: duped, enlightened, duped again.
Zeller is a protean writer with an interest in confounding audiences. Lying and its multiple uses interest him, and pretended ignorance emerges here as the most devious tool: hidden knowledge is power. Yet one of the questions he raises is this: when the secret knowledge of infidelity unpicks the seams of a life, is the power any more than a threadbare cover for powerlessness?
Lindsay Posner’s excellent production is set in hotel bedrooms and minimalist French apartments that give nothing away (designer Lizzie Clachan). The dialogue is pacy, with a heartless sheen. As Michel, Alexander Hanson is hilariously ghastly. A talkative philanderer unburdened by self-knowledge, he is temporarily lost for words whenever his perfidy is exposed. He chews on emptiness, rearranges the contours of his face. He is defensively indefensible.
Frances O’Connor is beautifully poised as his lover, Alice, wife to his best friend, a role that fleetingly admits moral doubt. Tanya Franks as Laurence intrigues, keeping her riddling emotions close, and Robert Portal’s entertaining Paul is a blockish bloke with an aggressive stare and a trump card up his sleeve. The Truth moves with the fluency of a dance that keeps turning on its own heel. It is an entertaining, unsettling, must-see show – there are depths to its shallowness.
- At the Menier Chocolate Factory, London, until 7 May
