Houses of Games at Hampstead Theatre Review

The House of Games production image. Photo by Manuel Harlan

Written by Franco Milazzo for Theatre & Tonic

Disclaimer: Gifted tickets in exchange for an honest review.

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Billy is in deep trouble and in therapy. In his latest session with Dr Margaret Ford, he tells her about how his compulsive habits have left him $25,000 in debt to a criminal called Mike. He threatens suicide, she offers to help and so begins a twisted tale of deceit and double-crossing.

The original 1987 neo-noir movie was written and directed by David Mamet and first hit the stage when Richard Bean (One Man, Two Guvnors) converted it for the Almeida in 2010. Despite its age, its adaptation (helmed here by Jonathan Kent) is still very much recognisable as Mamet’s writing, if only through the jerking plot which pulls us this way and that and the rat-a-tat-tat dialogue. 

The Chicago native has always had two intuitive ears for how people talk, especially those with a hidden agenda or under stress. Bean retains much of that back-and-forth patter and, likewise, switches the scene between Ford’s office and Mike’s betting parlour and bar House of Games. The two sets are placed one above the other and allows the action to flow quickly and smoothly, aided by some nifty lighting from Peter Mumford.

Lisa Dillon’s Margaret is a convincingly curious psychiatrist who wants to use Mike (a sharp Richard Harrington) and his world as the basis for her next book. There are signs early on that all is not what it seems. Barman Bobby (Andrew Whipp) has no clue how to make a Manhattan and, when George (Siôn Tudor Owen) threatens to shoot Ford, she spots that he’s wielding a water pistol. As soon as she understands that Mike and his friends are not so much card sharps as out-and-out grifters, she’s happy to play along with his idea of observing their next job and joins his merry gang: ex-biker and barman Bobby, veteran conman Joey (Robin Soans) and the bellyaching George. 

As one of the crew notes, every long con is fraught with danger; the same goes with having one auteur converting another’s work. Bean and Mamet are not the most obvious of artistic soulmates. The Englishman has made his name with genial crowd pleasers that, even when death rears its head, leave the punters with a wry smile on their faces; the American, on the other hand, has no qualms cranking up the tension to unbearable levels between characters whose plays often go disastrously awry. If House of Games was a drink, it would be a strong espresso with three sugars and a splash of milk.

All this boils down to a play that seems something of an awkward fit. The original swearing is toned down, there are more comedy moments, and the film’s dark ending is ditched in favour of a softer version. When dialogue isn’t firing left and right, there’s a noticeable sag in the pace. While Mamet’s direction pinpointed where our focus should be, that is harder to achieve on a stage, with the result that, most noticeably in the bigger scenes, the audience’s attention is diffused and the overall momentum is dampened. 

This never, though, feels underpowered. The cast (especially Oscar Lloyd’s Billy) seem to be enjoying their work here, Harrington’s wily conman steers us through, and Dillon proves a satisfying foil. Film noir is hard to get right in theatres and this game attempt is worth a watch if only to help us dream of how an adaptation by Mamet himself would have turned out.

House Of Games continues at Hampstead Theatre until 7 June.

★★★