(Michael Billington’s aticle appeared in the Guardian, 9/21.)

Martin McDonagh has lost none of his power to shock. After more than a decade since his last London premiere with The Pillowman (2003), he returns with a savagely black comedy that reminds us it is exactly 50 years since the end of hanging in England, Wales and Scotland. But the question his play poses is whether the professional need to kill, with its potential for injustice, can be abandoned overnight.

The bulk of the action, after a brief prologue showing a judicial execution, takes place in 1965 in an Oldham pub belonging to Harry Wade. As a former deputy to the official hangman, Albert Pierrepoint, Harry is a local celebrity who attracts a gang of barroom cronies, and who unwisely gives a newspaper interview bragging of his past prowess. But, when Harry’s daughter goes missing, he begins to suspect a brash young visitor from London, Mooney, may be involved.


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