Bitter Wheat
Garrick Theatre, London

WRITTEN and directed by David Mamet, this premiere of Bitter Wheat with John Malkovich in the leading role has understandably raised high expectations. It delivers on nearly all counts.

Mamet’s subject is the successful yet repugnant film producer Barney Fein — very much in the mould of Harvey Weinstein — who faces the inevitable consequences of his corrupt and immoral actions.

But, as with many of Mamet’s plays, this is much more than a censorial indictment of an individual. It’s also a sharp and scathing depiction of how absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Malkovich’s portrayal of the bloated and cynical film mogul, as loathsome as he is entertaining, is a hugely engaging creation. Fein is a man for whom nothing is sacred and he believes that everything and everyone has a price.

Fein knows that his films are shit and that his business motto of “bringing light to truth” is no more than making people feel good about misery in order to launder money. But he feels no regrets or compulsion to change.

Malkovich’s distinctive vocal qualities invest Fein’s acerbic rants with a clarity and bite that make Mamet’s poetic invective sparkle as he insults, abuses and bullies those around him into subjugation.

Although Fein dominates the play, other performances enhance Fein’s vainglorious fiefdom. Doon Mackichan’s unflappable PA wearily attempts to steer her boss’s egomaniacal schemes away from the rocks, while Alexander Arnold’s punch-bag office boy seems too stupid to care.

It is Ioanna Kimbook’s Anglo-Korean young starlet Yung Kim Li who initiates Fein’s downfall. Bright, breezy and unwilling to be blackmailed into sex with the Viagra-fuelled mogul, she becomes little more than a horrified observer of his ridiculous advances that turn increasingly aggressive.

Mamet, whose wit is as sharp as ever, gives Malkovich full reign in exploring the depths of his despotic character in a Trump-style world of self-glorification, personalised reality and absolute power, where values have been subjugated to desires.

The gift of Imelda Marcos’s rhinestone-embossed copy of Wealth of Nations provides a perfect symbol for the perverted state of Fein’s economic success, while his mother’s bequest to Greenpeace and Mossad is a true reflection of the absurd contradictions of their value system.

The play loses some of its potency after the interval, when Fein’s downfall is treated in the manner of one of his cheap films. But this does not detract from a memorable production, with an outstanding central performance.

Runs until September 21, box office: nimaxtheatres.com.