Sandra Oh makes a very decent UK stage debut as Alice, the misanthrope in question in Martin Crimp's new adaptation of the classic Molière comedy at the National Theatre. Avant-garde playwright and translator Crimp has taken several passes at The Misanthrope over the years, delivering versions in 1996, 2009 and now 2026. It is easy to see why: if the title character hates the modern world, then the modern world is always changing, offering new things to be misanthropic about.
Alice as a reluctant novelist
In previous Crimp versions, the protagonist was a playwright, and in Molière, a jaded courtier. Here, Oh's Alice is a revered novelist who grumpily shuns most fripperies of the modern world. 'Misanthrope' seems quite strong to describe Oh's gruff but essentially likeable Alice, who is warm to her friends but whose interest in the bullshit that glues society together is close to zero. As the play opens, she berates her playwright BFF John (Paul Chahidi: bumbling, likeable) for offering an enthusiastic greeting to a woman they passed on the stairs who it turns out he did not actually know. As the play progresses, it becomes apparent that Alice's dream is to live off grid and away from humanity with her troubled actor boyfriend Stefan (Tom Mison: fey, distracted).
A promising subplot fizzles
In a promising early development, Alice is approached by Esmée (Imogen Elliott: very funny), a posh girl feminist book influencer who insists upon making Alice read the extremely bad first draft of her novel. Alice mercilessly dissects it, much to Esmée's dismay: she runs off distraught and starts setting about getting Alice cancelled. It is a frustration, then, that Crimp never makes that much of this. His text has lots of enjoyable characters and some very fun barbs about the modern entertainment world, especially—via John—contemporary theatre (a Simon Stone-alike director is roundly mocked).
Relationship drama drags
But the slightly sloggy relationship drama between Alice and Stefan feels like it devours most of the time. While this is relatively close to what happens in the original, Crimp muddies the waters over whether Stefan is cheating on Alice to the point the narrative becomes frustratingly blurred. It also feels like there is a bit of timidity here: Alice is in hot water vis-à-vis a prestigious German literary prize, whose panel want Alice to apologise for previous comments before accepting. But it feels like it sells Alice short by being determinedly vague about what the comments actually were—not telling us makes the character blander. The incident would seem to be inspired by something similar that happened to the great playwright Caryl Churchill regarding a short play she wrote about Israel.
A wild ending saves the day
After 90 minutes of feeling slightly less than the sum of its parts, Indhu Rubasingham's production and Crimp's text finally go gloriously mad for the final furlong, switching to Molière-style rhyming verse and leaving any sense of naturalism behind as Robert Jones' hitherto realist set suddenly becomes very strange. It is a weird final sequence, but without unduly spoiling exactly what happens, it worked for this reviewer because it felt like Crimp was finally actually making a point. Alice dreams of retreating away to the countryside with Stefan and living in a world without bullshit; but Crimp's ultimate point is that the bullshit is what constitutes humanity, that if everyone went and lived in a cabin by a lake then we as a species would be fucked. It will be divisive but for my money it is a strong ending that saves The Misanthrope from the doldrums.
Overall verdict
Overall, a mixed bag that ends strong. Crimp has undoubtedly earned his English language domination of this play and at its best this new spin is very good. But I do not think anyone is going to complain if we get a more slickly comic version next time The Misanthrope rears its grumpy head. The production runs 1 hour 45 minutes with no interval, and tickets range from £30 to £120.
