Making a very welcome return to the Bath Theatre Royal, God Of Carnage is a darkly comic one-act play with a familiar theme. It exposes so-called ‘civilised’ behaviour as a mere veneer that serves to hide the primeval savagery that lurks deep within us all. French writer Yasmina Reza’s target is specifically the comfortable middle-class, the ‘bourgeois’. That’s a French term, of course, and that nation has a long tradition of dealing sharply with la bourgeoisie, either by packing them off to the guillotine, or by lampooning them satirically.  Reza is following a tradition started way back in the 1600s by Molière.  She presents us with two married couples who get together to discuss a playground incident. Veronica and Michael Novak’s twelve-year-old son has lost a couple of front teeth, having been hit in the face with a stick wielded by Alan and Annette Raleigh’s boy.   The action takes place in the Novak’s comfortable home, and initially it would seem that these well-to-do people will quickly arrive at a sensible way to deal with this unfortunate little incident.  However, there is one detail in designer Peter McKintosh’s set that suggests that all will not go smoothly.  At a casual first glance, the Novak’s spacious lounge appears to feature an arty, modernist chandelier, but look again and you realise that the object suspended high above these four representatives of western civilisation is made up of tribal spears.

During the initial polite but uneasy exchange of pleasantries, we discover that Alan is a corporate lawyer and that is wife Annette is in wealth management. One might wryly suggest that ‘wealth management’ is what drives all of these people.  Veronica would disagree, for she is a socially aware writer with liberal sensibilities and a love of art.  Her next book will be about the Sudanese conflict in Darfur. It is therefore slightly surprising to find that she is married to Michael, a no-nonsense self-made man with more than a few rough edges, who has made his fortune selling pots, pans and bathroom fittings. As a welcoming gesture, Veronica offers her guests her homemade clafoutis, and there is general agreement that it is delicious.  They amiably discuss whether clafoutis is a cake or a tart.  That concern for semantic niceties seems harmless enough,  but becomes much more dangerous when the conversation turns to whether the Raleigh boy was ‘armed’ with a stick, or merely  ‘furnished’ with it, and whether or not the Novak boy should be seen as an entirely innocent victim, or to some extent as a provocateur. Things rapidly begin to fall apart, with comic results.

Tall and angular, Simon Paisley Day is wonderfully dry as Alan, an infinitely cynical lawyer who is quick to acknowledge that his son is a ‘savage’. It is clear that his air of languid detachment has characterised his parenting style; the boy is a stranger to him. We discover that his wife Annette is a stranger to him, too. Samantha Spiro’s Annette is initially keen to be a peacemaker, but as the drink flows and unpleasant truths are revealed, she turns into an exasperated ball of anger and self-loathing. Her descent into incoherent, projectile-vomiting misery is excruciatingly funny, but Spiro’s beautifully judged performance reveals Annette as a tragic figure, saddled with a husband who is married more closely to his constantly ringing mobile phone than he is to her.

The multi-talented Elizabeth McGovern returns here in the role of Veronica, and having suffered an injury, last night she performed throughout with one arm trussed up in a sling. Trouper that she is, this did not appear to inhibit her one bit.  Her Veronica epitomises the kind of ostensibly well-meaning, middle-class do-gooder whose apparent concern for justice can all too quickly turn into a something much more self-serving.  Her motivations are just as questionable as everyone else’s. Another returnee is Nigel Lindsay, as the very down-to-earth Alan, perhaps the most likeable and the most honest of this quartet of deeply flawed characters.  Compared with his hyper-sensitive wife, Alan is a socially clumsy, politically incorrect lunkhead, but he has some of the best, and truest lines.  He says that when he sees happy young couples joyfully embarking upon married life, he wants to cry out, ‘You have no idea!’ That gained last night’s biggest laugh; one of rueful recognition, no doubt.

Directed by Lindsay Posner, this splendid production of God Of Carnage features great performances, and in Christopher Hampton’s witty translation it constantly serves up sparklingly sharp, acerbic dialogue.  When all the mayhem subsides, the play ends on a nihilistic note, with nothing resolved.  Yasmina Reza is good at ruthlessly puncturing the pretensions of her characters, but her Darwinist vision offers little in the way of hope.  God Of Carnage is very funny, but the humour is underpinned with more than a little pessimism about the human race. It’s Lord Of The Flies, but with jokes. Highly recommended.   ★★★★☆    Mike Whitton   21^st January 2020