A fine study in claustrophobic menace for these oppressive times

Harold Pinter’s early one-act play is a concise study in how to build an atmosphere of rising menace that accelerates to a terrifying conclusion in just under an hour. As part of Hampstead Theatre’s opening season in 1960, it was paired with his first play The Room. Here as its 60th anniversary production, it stands alone, easily providing an evening of discomfiting theatre for this time of pandemic. Never less than entertaining, it provides plenty of food for thought for the journey home – and beyond.

Talking of food, the two hitmen confined in designer James Perkins’ dingy basement awaiting orders for their next job are apparently holed up beneath a restaurant. For it seems the only orders they receive are for increasingly, impossibly exotic meals, made on scraps of paper borne by the eponymous food lift as it creaks ominously up and down (sound Giles Thomas).

In Alice Hamilton’s carefully calibrated production, it's all in the physicality, choreography and body language, from the get-go, which allows senior thug Ben and his ‘apprentice’ Gus to establish their situation and relationship (and its tensions) without a word spoken. The pair are dressed in sharp suits (period circa early 1960s), with leather braces, suggesting their profession as hitmen, later confirmed when both pull revolvers in reaction to a perceived threat.

There’s an immediate pleasing edginess between Alec Newman’s older, smoother – and more dangerous – Ben and Shane Zaza’s Gus, a nervy, fidgety youth. Ben is happy to relax on one of the two grimy looking iron bedsteads reading his redtop newspaper, while Gus fiddles with his shoes and hovers anxiously between the door, the beds and the (offstage) lavatory. Age and experience mean that Ben is always going win any power games in this working relationship.

All this is still without dialogue and when Ben does speak, it’s to read out banal sensationalised stories of traffic accidents and kids tormenting a cat, to which Gus makes what he hopes are appropriate answers. Between this small talk, Ben is validating his authority and giving orders. A discussion as to whether you light a kettle or the gas ring on which you boil it gets heated (no pun intended) and violent.

Unseen forces outside the confines of the basement make their presence felt, with notes and even matches pushed under the door. Eventually it becomes clear that both men answer to an unseen boss, though only Ben appears to take orders directly via a speaking tube next to the dumb waiter’s hatch.

There’s plenty of comedy en route to the climax, especially in the contrast between those food orders – ranging from braised steak to macaroni – and the biscuits and chocolate Gus finds in his bag to send up in response.

It’s a tribute to Hamilton and her cast that the conclusion is unbearably tense and potentially shocking even to those who, like me, have seen this brief masterpiece more than once before.

By Judi Herman

Photos by Helen Maybanks

The Dumb Waiter runs Monday 4 – Saturday 30 January. 7.30pm, 2.30pm (Thu & Sat only). £18-£37, £20-£25 seniors (matinees only), £10-£15 students/under-30s. Hampstead Theatre, NW3 3EU. hampsteadtheatre.com

Listen to our interview with director Alice Hamilton on JR OutLoud.