ajhlovestheatre

UNICORN

by Mike Bartlett

directed by James Macdonald

Garrick Theatre, London – until 26 April 2025

running time: 2 hours 20 minutes including interval

https://www.unicorntheplay.co.uk

A brand-new play by an established, acclaimed writer and starring a trio of telly names who are equally adept at stage work, feels like a refreshingly old-fashioned proposition, a throwback to West End vehicles of yesteryear. Clearly Mike Bartlett’s new Unicorn, starring Erin Doherty and reuniting the magic team of TV’s The Split’s Stephen Mangan and Nicola Walker is what audiences want: the limited season is pretty much sold out already. A provocative look at a middle-aged couple opening up their marriage, after a couple of false starts, to a young woman (Doherty) several decades their junior, it’s not dissimilar to the same writer’s Cock, last seen in the West End with Jonathan Bailey a couple of years ago, but with polyamory instead of bisexuality as its spice of interest.

Bartlett’s most ambitious stage work (Albion, King Charles III, 13, Earthquakes In London) has a lot to say about humanity and the state of the nation as a whole and with Unicorn he tries to have it both ways. So, while Walker’s Polly and Mangan’s Nick are navigating their marriage through tricky new waters, they and sexual interloper Kate (their ‘unicorn’) also pontificate at length on subjects as random as bygone TV programmes, gender roles and the way that dating and relationships has changed since the pre-digital age. This is a very talky play, and James Macdonald’s slick but static staging mostly has the cast facing front spouting lines like “I don’t know if people change but life does” from random benches and sofas. 

Despite the quality of the acting, it’s not a very theatrical evening. Nor is it a sexy one, although maybe Bartlett’s point is partly that ordinary people can find their relationships going into extraordinary territories; such action as there is, is more toecurling than titillating. At one point Nick starts to talk about butt play, and Polly responds with “do you really want that to be the next topic?”, a line that feels symptomatic of a play that repeatedly throws subjects into the air but doesn’t really do anything with them. In the aftermath of discovering an infidelity, Polly describes their situation as “bloody…it’s fucking Greek!” but actually it isn’t, there’s plenty of swearing and complaining, but the dramatic temperature seldom rises above the tepid. The staccato structure of brief, terse scenes doesn’t help.

Like two thirds of its principal characters, Unicorn feels depressingly middle-aged. There’s some rueful wit (Polly refers to signs of ageing as early symptoms of death, and complains that her hesitant husband uses words like ‘tangibility’ in sexual situations) but the overall tone is whiny and sour. It’s never clear why we should care about these self absorbed characters, about whom we learn surprisingly little beyond their professions (Polly is a poet, Nick a ENT doctor, and Kate in a less than plausible pivot goes from aspiring writer to trainee barrister). 

Walker and Mangan are technically superb actors with a natural likability and chemistry that goes some way towards redeeming the tedious married couple. Doherty fares less well, although that may be a fault in the writing, and Kate seems mostly mannered and disapproving, where she should perhaps be a free spirit. I was never convinced that there was a sexual charge between any of these people.

Bartlett‘s script lurches into darker territory in the second half, but it’s hard to get emotionally invested when the characters remain so resolutely unknowable, and the whole thing would benefit from being approximately an hour shorter. There’s little here that’s revelatory or even particularly insightful, and the anguish never cuts deep enough. As far as plays about the uncomfortable truths within intimate relationships go, Unicorn is pallid and undernourished next to, say, Patrick Marber’s Closer, Tom Stoppard’s The Real Thing, or indeed Bartlett’s own Cock (the play!).

Unicorn ultimately doesn’t make polyamory seem like a particularly attractive relationship choice and it’s “I love you, I love you too, I love you three” conclusion feels pretty pat. Finely acted and produced with the attractive sheen of a West End budget, it’s a decent enough night out, but one that possibly won’t stay with you for long after you’ve left the theatre. I was hugely disappointed.