Ron's rages are sincere and — according to his wife — healthily cathartic. But can these splenetic outbursts loosen the grip of capitalism at its most monstrous?
IN JANUARY the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse in London opened for its inaugural production The Duchess of Malfi, directed by Dominic Dromgoole and starring Gemma Arterton.
The space itself is a remarkable addition to London’s cultural landscape. It’s a recreation of a Jacobean indoor theatre which, while drawing on the 17th-century Blackfriars Playhouse, makes no claims to be an exact replica. It is an “archetype” but, whatever the space’s configuration, its productions have been fantastic.
Right from the opening of John Webster’s play, the atmosphere was electric. A remarkable sense of claustrophobia was immediately established and to sit in close quarters with David Dawson’s Ferdinand was unsettling and uncomfortable.
England survived a thrilling Azteca encounter, but the stadium and its supporters created one of the tournament’s defining nights, writes JAMES NALTON
ANGUS REID applauds the potential of an ambitious show about Gaza, and encourages it to keep its nerve
MARY CONWAY becomes impatient with the intellectual self-indulgence of Tom Stoppard in a production that is, nevertheless, total class


