Theatre has become like a budget airline

Rachel Cooke

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On Wednesday I bunked off work and slipped into the matinee performance of Giant, Mark Rosenblatt’s hit play about Roald Dahl and antisemitism.

I told myself it was research: I’m fascinated by which artists get a pass for bad - even heinous - behaviour, and which don’t. But mostly I just wanted to see if it was as good as everyone says.

Did it live up to expectations? Yes, it did. John Lithgow is transfixing as Dahl, pirouetting between sentimentality, even kindness, and something more horribly savage.

The various shades of English antisemitism that are on display - they range from wilful ignorance to a certain kind of desperate-to-please politeness - mean that the play really is nuanced (though you can also tell this from the fact that the audience laughs at lines that are the opposite of funny). Best of all, it’s that perfect thing: a drawing-room piece that lasts a mere two hours. Time for dinner.