The Line of Beauty, Almeida review: A wild, witty through Thatcher

Published: 30 October 2025. The English Chronicle Desk. The English Chronicle Online.

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Director Michael Grandage and writer Jack Holden’s adaptation of Alan Hollinghurst’s Booker Prize-winning novel The Line of Beauty brings to the Almeida Theatre a heady mix of wit, satire, and seduction. Set against the opulent yet morally decaying world of Thatcher-era Britain, the production captures both the glittering surface and the emotional rot underneath a society obsessed with wealth, image, and influence.

The play begins with a whirl of champagne, laughter, and snobbery — a dazzling portrait of upper-class excess. Jasper Talbot’s Nick Guest, a young, gay Oxford graduate, finds himself entangled with the wealthy Fedden family, an emblem of Conservative privilege. As Nick lodges in their Notting Hill mansion, he becomes both insider and outsider, navigating a world where charm and conformity are currency, and where authenticity comes at a steep cost.

Jack Holden’s script deftly translates Hollinghurst’s lyrical prose into sharp, theatrical dialogue that fizzes with irony and emotional complexity. While the novel’s fragmented structure and psychological introspection are softened in this version, Holden infuses the story with a modern energy that makes it immediate and accessible. What results is not a strict recreation of the book but an emotional reinterpretation that feels both nostalgic and politically relevant.

Jasper Talbot’s performance is central to the production’s success. His Nick is not merely an observer; he’s a man seduced by the allure of privilege, desperately trying to belong in a world that will never fully accept him. Opposite him, Leo Suter’s Toby Fedden embodies the effortless charm and obliviousness of the upper class, while Ellie Bamber as Cat delivers a luminous, chaotic portrayal of fragility and rebellion. Her manic honesty cuts through the room’s artificiality like glass through silk — an emotional counterpoint to Nick’s controlled composure.

Christopher Oram’s set design complements the emotional rhythm perfectly. The design evokes the decadence of the 1980s without tipping into parody — mirrored walls, pastel tones, and glimmering chandeliers give the illusion of grandeur while hinting at the emptiness behind the façade. The subtle layering of music, with strains of Strauss echoing through Gerald Fedden’s grand home, reflects the pomposity of a class still clinging to inherited notions of superiority.

Charles Edwards as Gerald Fedden is both endearing and grotesque, capturing the politician’s warmth and oblivious cruelty. His charm disarms even as it suffocates, making it easy to see why Nick becomes entangled in the family’s web. Gerald’s generosity masks exploitation, his paternal affection conceals condescension, and his moral compass bends to convenience. It’s a portrayal that resonates powerfully with today’s audiences, still living in the shadow of the era’s political hypocrisies.

The production’s most striking achievement lies in its tone — a seamless balance between biting comedy and aching melancholy. Grandage’s direction captures the giddy excitement of social ascent, only to let it dissolve into disillusionment. As Nick falls for Leo (played with quiet strength by Alistair Nwachukwu), a Black council worker from a working-class background, the contrast between authenticity and artifice becomes painfully clear. Their romance, tender yet doomed, embodies the social and racial divides that Thatcher’s Britain both masked and magnified.

Holden and Grandage do not shy away from the political undercurrents. References to AIDS, racism, and the hollow moralism of Conservative Britain weave subtly through the narrative. The arrival of Margaret Thatcher herself — played with sharp precision and camp flair — is one of the production’s most memorable moments. Cat’s wicked remark, “She looks like a country and western singer,” lands not only as a cutting insult but as a reminder of how class and taste are weaponised to exclude.

By the play’s end, the glittering parties have lost their allure. The world Nick once idolised collapses under the weight of hypocrisy and fear. His final moments — a mixture of shame, revelation, and liberation — leave the audience breathless. He has seen the truth behind the beauty, and it is both horrifying and deeply human.

What distinguishes this adaptation from previous versions is its ability to make the 1980s feel startlingly contemporary. The questions at its heart — about power, privilege, sexuality, and belonging — still burn fiercely in today’s political climate. The Feddens’ world of influence and image finds echoes in today’s celebrity-driven, media-manipulated elite.

In its pacing and energy, The Line of Beauty feels like a party that never quite ends — too dazzling to leave, too toxic to survive. Grandage’s direction ensures that every scene hums with unease beneath the elegance. The cast, uniformly excellent, maintain a delicate balance between satire and sincerity.

There may be moments when Holden’s adaptation simplifies Hollinghurst’s subtle ambiguities, giving Nick clearer moral choices than the novel allows. Yet, this is a theatrical necessity, and what is gained is immediacy and warmth. The Almeida’s intimate setting amplifies the emotional stakes, drawing the audience close enough to feel the characters’ exhilaration and despair.

Ultimately, this is not just a nostalgic glimpse into Thatcher-era excess but a moral parable for modern Britain. Beauty, it suggests, is seductive but fragile; privilege, intoxicating but poisonous. And the price of belonging — for those on the margins — remains heartbreakingly high.

With The Line of Beauty, Grandage and Holden have crafted a production that is as entertaining as it is thought-provoking — a feast of style, substance, and searing wit that lingers long after the final bow.