The ‘Code’ in question here is the Hays Code, the moral guidelines that bound Hollywood film-making between 1934 and 1968, when the system of film-ratings came in with which we are all familiar. Each of the four characters in this exquisitely crafted four-hander is constrained by the code, and the show explores different ways of evading or escaping it, and the costs involved along the way.
We begin with the sharpest of contrasts between appearance and reality. We enter the auditorium to view a highly tasteful apartment interior that oozes the Hollywood glamour of the post-war era; and just to avoid any doubt we have it framed with a fragment of the famous sign on the Hollywood Hills. This is clearly the home of someone with an eye for taste and design and the means to furnish it. But we immediately come up against grittier realities with the first line: “This entire town is a cesspool, darling. Beautifully lit. Well appointed. But a cesspool nonetheless.”
This is delivered langourously by Tallulah Bankhead (Tracie Bennett) as she downs the first of several Manhattans, and begins an evening of one-line zingers and mordant commentary on the world of LA she is visiting while hopefully on audition. As the other characters enter, we learn that all of them are restless and needy in their own ways. The host at cocktail hour is Billie Haines, once a major film prospect, who refused to conceal his sexual identity behind an arranged marriage, moving instead into a successful carreer in interior design; and later arrivals include Henry Willson (Nick Blakeley), a closeted agent, who has made the masking of identity the means of making many a Hollywood career, and Chad Manford (Solomon Davy), his latest project.
This is one of those plays where apparently little happens – a cocktail hour passes and then the guests move on to another location – but underneath the badinage and bickering major issues are debated. Fundamentally, the characters explore the paradox of Hollywood’s biggest hypocrisy then and, partly, now – that in an industry largely run by gay people, their real identity cannot even be acknowledged. The dialogue is of the highest quality, both witty and entertaining and intellectually unsparing and incisive, with a delicate balance between hard-nosed and humane perspectives.
The top-notch cast relish the opportunities they are given for such no-holds-barred exchanges. Bennett rightly does not attempt a direct impersonation of Bankhead, but channels her own dramatic instincts to present a wonderfully detailed, sassy and candid portrayal, which is often moving just because there is a total absence of self-pity. Partridge is equally powerful as Haines, whose carefully curated, polished, debonair surface gradually crumbles to reveal the scars and regrets of his earlier life. Davy develops his part neatly from naive ingenu through to a sadly cynical conclusion that exemplifies the price paid for success; while Blakeley, in the least sympathetic role, more than holds his own in putting across the case for hard-bitten realism.
Ethan Cheek’s set is a wonderfully specific account of chic 1950s style while also offering flexibility of levels; and the brooding but warm, twilight lighting scheme from Jack Weir adds a plausible film noir feel to the ambience. Ths is a play where authentic glossy period ambience is central to the success of an evening that relies on the exploration and scrutiny of surfaces, and the creative team manage this aspect impeccably.
My one reservation in an otherwise compelling production resides in the structure of the final twenty minutes, where the breaking of the fourth wall by Bankhead seems to me to get in the way of the cumulative power of the drama, and tells us what we already know for ourselves. Inserting structural scaffolding at this point about gender roles simply slows down the denouement and weakens its power.
However, this is a small cavil in a show that otherwise is a delight and should place its cast and creative team in line for awards at the end of the season.
Writer: Michael McKeever
Director: Christopher Renshaw
Cast: Tracie Bennett, Nick Blakeley, Solomon Davy, John Partridge
Until 11 October 2025
1 hr 30 mins, no interval
Photo Credit: Danny Kahn