It’s hard to equate the Earthquakes in London that I saw last night at Richmond Theatre with the National Theatre’s Cottesloe production of last year, that won rave reviews and was impossible to get tickets for. Perhaps it was the shape of the theatre: rather than the snaking catwalk at the Cottesloe we had not one but two revolves, often travelling in opposite directions and creaking throughout the quiet bits and generally distracting from the action. (Though I did like the back projections.)
Every character was a cliche, from the ditzy drug-filled teenage student to the hard-bitten politician, the scientist father who in his youth sold out to Big Corporation (shades of Filter’s Water) to the evangelical young woman who set out to save the world (shades of Greenland).
Heaven help us. Is it only me who thought this one of the worst plays in recent history?