Did London Critics Pledge Allegiance to National Anthems?

Kevin Spacey began his first season as the artistic director of the Old Vic by directing Cloaca, a piece that was not well-received by London critics. Next came a short run of the pantomime Aladdin, and now the Old Vic is back to presenting a full-length run, this time of Dennis McIntyre's National Anthems, which opened on February 8. Spacey has long been committed to the play, starring in a production years ago at Long Wharf Theatre. Now he is taking to the stage with two other American stars, Mary Stuart Masterson and Steven Weber. Did Spacey win over the critics with National Anthems?

Here is a sampling of what they had to say:

Benedict Nightingale of The London Times: "Has Spacey yet got his finger on the pulse--or at least on a pulse that matters to us in England? From the moment I entered the Vic, to see a vast Stars and Stripes covering the stage in a rather big hint of the evening's tenor, I began to wonder, and when the flag collapsed to reveal the innards of one of those overblown doll's houses you find all over middle-class America, I wondered some more. By the time David Grindley's production had reached its supposedly poignant end, I was still wondering… [Spacey's] is a highly skilful performance, whether he is defensively babbling or forlornly blustering or remembering his heroics or, all too occasionally, injecting a sly, funny put-down into the unequal chat. With Weber exuding gogetting aggro, and Masterson doing all she can with an unrewarding role, the acting isn't the problem. But the choice of play is."

Nicholas de Jongh of The Evening Standard: "Dennis McIntyre's National Anthems, a minor comedy that finally slithers into melodrama's gulch, mounts a flaccid, sentimental assault upon materialism and a values system that over rewards the university-educated at the expense of heroic, blue-collar public servants… A miscast, goateed Spacey, mustering a few flashes of conviction as Ben Cook, a sad, middle-aged American fireman, effects an entrance into the suburban, Detroit home of his new neighbors, the Reeds. Mr.Spacey peddles a line of perky, pushy self-confidence, that makes light of his character's underlying despair and isolation… David Grindley's production lacks the dimension of subtlety."

Michael Billington of The Guardian: "While Spacey is mesmerizing to watch, McIntyre's play offers a glibly mechanical metaphor for American life… I'm all for plays that take apart American values. But where Edward Albee's Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf turns a living room into a national metaphor by laying the psychological groundwork, McIntyre treats his characters as off-the-peg symbols… Spacey doesn't just occupy the stage, he seizes it by right… Steven Weber and Mary Stuart Masterson as Arthur and Leslie do what they can to camouflage the fact that they are playing national symbols. Weber lends the feverish Arthur a restless tension though the character is mainly a monster in an Armani suit. And Masterson uses all her technique to lend depth to a character that's a male dramatist's fantasy."

Charles Spencer of The Telegraph: "Dennis McIntyres's National Anthems proves another dud. It is sparkily acted, with Spacey in particular delivering a splashy star turn. But the play feels shallow, contrived and dated… David Grindley, who directed such a fine production of Mike Leigh's not dissimilar though vastly superior Abigail's Party, gets the most out of the jokes but can't conceal the glib nature of the play, while his staging of the violence proves far too tame. Spacey is initially charismatic and unsettling as the troubled fireman but is reduced to an embarrassing solo turn of blubbing sentimentality by the end. Steven Weber nails the vile Arthur with slick precision, but finds no hints of dramatic depth, and Mary Stuart Masterson as the house-proud wife only comes fully alive in a disconcertingly sexy cheerleader routine."

Paul Taylor of The Independent: "The piece is more effective as a slick and sometimes wincingly contrived showcase for Spacey's acting talents than as the savage satire on late-Eighties materialism in America that it's cracked up to be… Spacey gets to strut about comically as a reborn football champ and then crumple tragically and veer into madness as the attorney delivers one viciously bigoted blow after another. Ben's bravery, he insists, does not count in worldly terms because the woman was black and because the hotel was a residence for people on welfare. He's a loser period. The character also comes across as a set of performance opportunities rather than a real person. Despite the huge stage-draping American flag that flutters to the floor at the start of Grindley's polished production, the play never persuades you that it attains the symbolic dimensions aimed for in the title."