A low-budget bid to recreate Tom Cruise’s action film is failing, writes PATRICK MARMION



Minority Report (Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith)

Verdict: rent the movie

Judgement:

I had high hopes for David Haig’s stage adaptation of Philip K Dick’s 1956 science fiction novel, The Minority Report.

Sadly, it’s more in line with Tim Vine’s great joke about crime in parking garages: it’s wrong on so many levels.

Most fundamentally flawed, the story of a society that has developed brain chips to stop criminals before they take action tries to emulate the kinetic energy of Steven Spielberg’s 2002 action movie version, starring Tom Cruise.

The Cruise character will be Jodie McNee’s Julia, a high-profile CEO of the dystopian Ministry of Pre-Crime, who preaches an end to misogynistic violence and a new dawn of peace, tranquility, health and happiness.

But when technology turns against her, things suddenly look a lot less cool.

David Haig’s stage adaptation of Philip K Dick’s 1956 science fiction novel The Minority Report follows a society that has developed brain chips to stop criminals before they take action
Max Webster’s production is a low-budget, high-tech melodrama that includes a chase in a shaky Smart car (pictured)
David Haig’s piece is more in line with Tim Vine’s great joke about crime in multi-storey car parks: it’s wrong on so many levels

Unfortunately, Max Webster’s production is a low-budget, high-tech melodrama that includes a chase in a rickety Smart car.

Car chases unfortunately only work on stage as comedy and while McNee goes out of his way to take Julia seriously, there is some unusually ridiculous acting amid dystopian clichés of endless rain, brollies and electronic Vangelis music from Blade Runner.

You’re better off renting the movie.

Laughing Boy (Jermyn Street Theatre)

Verdict: The power of love

Judgement:

By Georgina Brown

Connor’s mother, Sara, calls her son LB, short for Laughing Boy, like the Frans Hals painting. Also London Buses, one of the many things her cute, funny child loved. Ditto trucks.

He hated shops, loud noise and darkness. Sara Ryan, an Oxford academic, says he was ‘quirky’. Autistic, epileptic, he saw things his own way. He could be a ‘handful’ at times, but easy to love.

Note the past tense. At 18, Connor left his special school, where he was safe and happy, and entered the next stage of ‘care’, an ATU (assessment and treatment unit) run by Southern Health.

He was never judged. He was ‘treated’ with sedatives, which left him with a flat tire and haggard.

Reports of his attacks were ignored. Locked in a bathroom while his supervisor ordered groceries online, he drowned.

Connor’s mother, Sara, calls her son LB, short for Laughing Boy, like the Frans Hals painting. Also London Buses, one of the many things her cute, funny child loved. Ditto trucks

Stephen Unwin’s lucid, devastating dramatization of his mother’s published memoirs begins on that unforgettable, searing day in 2013.

Thus begins Sara’s tireless, fearless mission to expose the scandal of neglect and indifference towards vulnerable people, leading to Connor’s entirely avoidable death while under the ‘care’ of the NHS.

And to seek justice for Connor. It culminates – and the irony is cruel – with a sickening, tense scene in which Sara herself is put on trial, accused of going to work instead of staying home with her son, and judged “monstrous” for has failed to build a bond with his son. caseworker.

Blurry images of singing children and a smiling little Connor are projected onto a curved white wall – like the end of a deep bath.

Connor himself is always present, played superbly by Alfie Friedman, intensely alive, affectionate, amused, amusing, asking questions, making statements and always ending with the word ‘mama’.

Their connection is extraordinary. It’s hard to take your eyes off Janie Dee as his dogged, determined mother, with her searing grief under control, her anger and frustration overflowing.

Almost unbearable, but essential campaign theater.