By Simon Thomson
Armando Iannucci’s Pandemonium is a theatrical counterblast to the chaos of Johnson-era politics. A Shakespearean pastiche by way of That Was the Week that Was, it tells the story of Boris from his initial vacillations over Brexit (“To be in, or not to be in…”), through the Covid pandemic to its aftermath, and offers an ending that provides the catharsis a liberally minded audience might wish for but cannot realistically expect.
Given Iannucci’s track-record with shows like The Day Today, The Thick of It, and Veep, whenever he steps into the political arena expectations are high. While there are certainly laughs to be had, more often than not they come from slapstick or wordplay, rather than the irreverent revelation of uncomfortable truths.
The sheer ridiculousness of British politics since 2016 makes bathos all but impossible, and tweaking the noses of public figures who are already held in such low regard does not deliver the same punch that might have come if the play’s targets still had even a veneer of competence or credibility. As the comic song-writer Tom Lehrer famously observed, “Political satire became obsolete when Henry Kissinger was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.” Failings in this area may be forgiven, as they are more the fault of circumstances than the playwright.
Pandemonium has the elements of a classic morality play, albeit one with more inventive swearing. The protagonist imagines himself imbued by divine right as “Orbis Rex” – the World King – and is referred to as Orbis throughout. Indeed, Iannucci revels in the 17 century convention of giving the characters in comedic plays names that suggest their true nature. So Orbis is surrounded by figures such as his wife Carrie My-Baby, Deputy Prime Minister Dominant Wrath, sprite-Chancellor Riches Sooner, and the usurper Less Trust.
Pandemonium is disdainful of the government, presenting exasperated scientific advisors and verbally abusive members of the public, as the voices of reason. The only major character who is treated with any sympathy is Matt Hemlock, the pitiful bog creature that Orbis appoints as Health Secretary, and unwitting future sacrificial lamb. Hemlock may be worthless slime, without basic intelligence, a backbone, or any other rudimentary features of a functional human being, but the scene-stealing Amalia Vitale’s brilliant physical performance brings him to life with a naïve enthusiasm that makes him difficult to hate. You almost find yourself rooting for the success of the romantic entanglement that’s his ultimate undoing.
When Orbis is brought down by the pandemic, he lies in a state of semi-consciousness. There he is visited by the blind seer Dominic Coming-for-You, a latter-day Tiresias, who warns him of hubris, setting up a conflict with the Gods, and Orbis’ final reckoning with himself.
Despite its somewhat scattergun approach, and disparate influences, Pandemonium finds humour in a particularly depressing period of modern British history
Director Patrick Marber, who has worked with Iannucci since The Day Today, has delivered a no-frills production (if you ignore the occasional ruff). The five actors who make up “the Pandemic Players” take on multiple roles, wearing doublets, hose adapted from Adidas tracky-bottoms, and – in one instance – a lurid green body-stocking. The set, such as it is, features a proscenium arch with a woodcut backdrop of a plague-afflicted Albion, two BEKVÄM step stools, and a hexagonal table with a trap door that functions as a swamp, an ICU bed, and ultimately a portal to Hell. Paul Chahidi wears Boris’ blond mop, and is entirely convincing as the bombastic but hollow Orbis, and Natasha Jayetileke’s puckish Riches captures the obsequious, self-serving essence of our current PM.
Despite its somewhat scattergun approach, and disparate influences, Pandemonium comes together as an amusing show, which manages to find humour in a particularly depressing period of modern British history. The audience participation, and disco-dancing finale, make it an unlikely but fitting alternative to a Christmas panto.
